Twelve
by JoanyChan
Summary: "The couple was beautiful, as if they were in a world of their own. That was when I decided I wanted to live in it, even if for a moment." 12 months, 365 days; that's the amount of time left for Momo to live. One; that is the number of things she wants to experience before she dies: love. Will Toushiro have the courage to help? HitsuHina. AU.
1. January

**January**

_ It's hard to find something that I will miss about January because there's nothing particularly exciting that goes on. It's filled with mostly people grumbling as they return from the festivities of December to the drudgery of their normal commutes. The snow on the ground corresponds with the mood; it's brown and mushed from heavy footprints and car tires. _

_ But I loved New Years. _

_I loved walking through crowds of people greeting, embracing, laughing. I loved wandering among the toasty glow of food stalls that contrast against winter night's biting cold air. I loved watching fireworks bloom and wither in the sky, making it seem as if stars cascade from the sky. _

_I loved it the most when the large gong at the shrine echoed through the town, as if welcoming the first of January while those around me cheered, hugged, drank, kissed, promised. _

_I loved it._

_But this year, this year New Years is nothing special to me. After all, what is New Years? It is celebration of the change from December 31st to January 1st. But what makes that one change so unique? Every second that passes is a moment of change. The person I am now is one second's worth of life different from the person I was one second ago. So why not celebrate every second?_

_This year, it hurts to watch the festivities of people who look forward to the future with excitement, without knowing what lies ahead. I think the mystery is truly wonderful and don't understand the popularity of the fortune stalls. That's one of the reasons I don't plan on going to get my fortune._

_That, and I already know what's going to happen to me._

_Hey, I hope the fireworks this New Years Eve will be beautiful._

_Because they will be my last._

* * *

His wintery, blue-green eyes stare at the _o-mikuji _in his hands with smug amusement. The small slip in his hands read:

_han-kichi _half-blessing

_endan _marriage engagement

He folds the slip up and ties it to a wire wall, with the rest of the bad fortunes. It's not that he believes in them; the fortune he just got was viable proof that all fortune tellers are simply cheap ways to trick people into wasting money.

_But still, marriage? How is that a blessing in any way? _He scoffs.

"Eh...Hitsugaya's says he's gonna get married..."

He turns to see a black haired girl peering at the fortune he left behind. The expression on her face looks as if she has just obtained a valuable piece of information to blackmail her friend if she were to ever need to do so.

"Shut up, devil Kurosaki." He replies in a nonchalant manner.

She grins and catches up to him in small steps. He purposely walks slower—traditional kimono sure looked uncomfortable. Karin has consistently complained about them, but ends up wearing one every year due to her twin sister Yuzu's insistence.

"Yeah I know, you never believe in fortunes anyway. Plus, who would like you enough to stay with you for life anyway?"

"You~ Karin!" Her twin with light brown hair hugs her from behind.

"Oi! Yuzu!" Karin's face turns uncharacteristically red.

"Plus, Hitsugaya-kun is really popular among the girls, even the ones who aren't the senior class. He's the favorite among the "calm, mysterious cool-type" fangirls!" Yuzu brightly states.

"Hah! Calm? Cool? He was a brat who was shorter than me just a few years ago!"

"Ah! Karin! You're still red!"

Toushiro blocks out their chatter as he stares at his breath that comes out in white puffs in the icy air. Unlike the people around him who seem to fight the cold with warm treats and thick clothing, he welcomes it; winter is his favorite season precisely for its weather.

He feels something faint bump into his chest. Looking down, he notices a slight girl with dark brown hair and matching warm eyes on the snow before him. Upon realizing that he was the one who knocked her over, he offers her a hand. It was unusual, however, for him to carelessly collide with someone—it was second nature for him to be attentive.

"Are you alright?"

"Yep! Sorry about that." She apologizes cheerily, genuinely carefree the melting snow on her pink kimono.

He pulls her up and is surprised at how feather-light she is.

_Almost like air..._ he thinks.

With the slightest tilt of her head, she smiles, "Thank you, Hitsugaya-kun."

He notices the slip of paper she dropped on the ground, but before he can point it out to her, the girl is gone, as if the wind has whisked her faint presence away.

_Wait, how does she know my name? Have I met her before? _

Bending over the pick up the damp _o-mikuji_, he reads:

_han-kyou_ half-curse

_endan _marriage engagement

* * *

Sparks of white-red blossom with a boom in the night sky, reflecting in her warm brown eyes. She appreciates the solitude of the hilltop—far from the warm bustle of the shrine below—as she lies facing the fireworks with her arms and legs spread out wide. Too entranced with the beauty of the lights, she ignores the damp, coldness seeping into her body through her disheveled kimono.

"It really is the most beautiful tonight." She smiles.

The crunching of the snow becomes more present, but at this moment she does not care enough to greet whoever is approaching.

The crunching stops. She can see sneakers in the corner of her eye.

"Oi, you'll catch a cold."

"Whatever happens happens." She airily responds.

He softly scoffs. "What kind of motto is that?"

She recognizes the voice. It reminds her of winter—reliably cool and composed.

He wants to ask why she is alone and she knows this. But she could ask why he is alone and he knows this. They leave their questions unanswered and come to a mutual gratitude for silence.

The last sparks burst in the sky as the countdown begins.

Her countdown begins. At 60 seconds before the new year, she allows herself the relief of an expression other than that of lightheartedness

_59..._

"Ne, Hitsugaya-kun."

_58...57...56..._

"You know what I hate about fireworks?"

_55...54...53..._

_"_They're so beautiful, yet they last only a few seconds before they disappear."

_52...51...50..._

__"But I can't help but love them at the same time."

_49...48...47..._

__"You're right. But since it's a once in a while thing, it's no good thinking that much into it. Just enjoy it."

_46...45...44..._

__She closes her eyes as a genuine smile tinged with sadness spreads across her face. His words give her peace and suddenly she allows her desire for excitement to wash over her. In her fingers, her cheeks, her chest, she feels a sort of tingling-a want to hear, see, feel everything. She makes her resolution.

_43...42...41...40..._

"Ne, Hitsugaya-kun."

39...38...37...

"Yeah?"

_36...35...34.._.

"You know, I went to the doctor's today. And they told me I only have twelve months left."

_33...32...31...30...29...28...27...26...25...24...23..._

"I'm dying."

_22...21...20...19...18...17...16...15...14...13...12_

"Do you think it'd be okay for me to be greedy once?"

_11...10..._

"I think so."

_9..._

_8..._

_7..._

_6..._

_5..._

"Then, will you do me a favor?"

_4..._

_3..._

_2..._

_1..._

"Please go out with me."

* * *

**I know it's been a long time since I've showed my (figurative) face here and I can only blame the horrors of junior year! I've actually had the seedling idea for this fanfic for 4 months now and have been itching to start. Hopefully I can try to type like the wind and get a sufficient amount done before senior year starts! **

**Boy have I missed writing fiction. I hope the year of dull literary analysis writing hasn't eroded my writing into something bland...O.o**

**Please review as always!**


	2. February

**February**

_When I was six I walked home with a shoebox filled with Valentine's chocolate from my classmates. With a proud smile, I liked to peek in the box and look at the pink and red foil-covered tokens of love. The everyday greetings, lunch invitations, game playing...all the pleasantries from each person condensed into the same taste of milk chocolate._

_Then I walked past that garden._

_A woman opened a heart shaped package of chocolate a man gave her. I thought that she must have really loved sweets because her hands flew to her mouth, as if trying to catch her breath from flying away on wings of disbelief. Or maybe she really hated them because there were tears sparkling in her eyes._

_The man knelt and picked up what was inside the box: a ring. He looked up as if asking a question and after the slightest nod he jumped up to embrace the woman._

_They spun—him holding her by the waist, turning in circles. _

_At that moment, they looked beautiful. It was as if the two of them danced in a world of their own—a secret world a thousand times sweeter than the chocolate in my boxes. _

_Then I knew what love truly was._

_And that was when I decided that I wanted to experience it, even if for a moment._

* * *

"Well...um...Hitsugaya-sempai! I-I...I've always liked you since I was in middle school...so...please...will you go out with me?"

_"Please go out with me."_

_Ah, now's not the time to think about that. _He shakes away the image a girl lying in the snow and focuses on the present. Right now, a curly haired blonde bowed before him. The dyed, golden curls hid some of her flushed face. For some reason, he is reminded that he really dislikes unnatural hairstyles.

"Um...Sorry, but—

"I understand!" The girl quickly interjects. "Of course...you wouldn't accept my feelings. I-I just wanted you to know—

She turns and rushes to her friends hiding behind the door to the staircase. From her voice that just turned extremely high-pitched towards the end of the sentence, he guesses that she is crying.

_How bothersome_. He looks up at the sky. He really would enjoy the school building roof more if he weren't called up here so much.

"Confession number...oh, I lost count."

"Shut up." He replies to the Karin's familiar cynical teasing.

"It's still a week 'til Valentine's and they're already starting. Honestly, I don't get what they see in you."

He turns to her and she looks away, as if caught in a lie. Maybe he noticed the red that crept up her face. "Cool and mysterious...hah, my ass. They should come up with some real qualities." She muttered but seemed uncharacteristically flustered.

Flicking her in the forehead he smirks and walks towards the staircase for afterschool soccer practice. Before completely leaving, he stands halfway down the staircase and calls out:

"I'm taller than you. That's a quality."

"Shut up!" She yells after him. After watching his broad shoulders disappear from view she sighs and quietly murmurs to herself, "I already know that."

* * *

_Will you do me a favor?"_

"_Please go out with me."_

Frustrated, Toushiro places his sweat-damped forehead on his cold gym locker. Even in practice the words would not leave him alone; it was bothersome enough for him to miss easy goal shots. Never has a girl been able to do that. Not even Karin, who gave him a concussion once from kicking him in the head (that was freshmen year; she discovered that he was suddenly taller and he decided to tease her about it for the first time). Why is this girl—whose name he didn't even know—so different?

"_I'm dying."_

She could've lied. That would make him an idiot. But something makes him unable to dismiss her confession as a cheap trick. If it even was a confession. She never mentioned having feelings for him like all the other girls who have confessed.

He decides that there is definitely something unsettling about her. As he leaves the locker room and says a few words to his teammates before exiting the school building, he feels relieved about the fact that their meeting would be their first and last. After all, he and the girl have nothing in common. Soon enough, he'll forget.

"Hitsugaya-kun!"

It was the same, cheery, yet somehow ethereal voice.

He turns to his left. No one.

But on his right is a girl in a Karakura high school uniform. Natural brown hair. Equally earthy brown eyes.

He can not hold back his surprise, "You attend this school?"

She shows absolutely no sign of being insulted. With joyful acceptance of her anonymity, she replies, "I've been here since my freshman year."

He is silent. The dark seems to consume her and soon enough it's almost as if he is talking to himself.

"Ne Hitsugaya-kun, what type of chocolate do you like?"

"Oi, what type of question is that?"

She skips in front of him and smiles excitedly, "Well, Valentine's Day is in a week, you know! And I want to give you chocolates. So I figured I'd ask you so you actually like them!"

"I get enough chocolates already."

"But I've never made chocolates. And I really want to be able to make some."

_Before I die..._

He can hear the unspoken words. Staring at her animated expression he replies, "Make them for someone else."

"But I asked you out. So I'm making them for you."

"Oi, I didn't say that I would—

"_I'm dying."_

He stops. He wonders if saying no would make him heartless. But he barely knows this girl. She is hardly his type, if he even has a defined "type". Something about her was oddly transient, odd enough to put him off.

Her eyes are dark brown but have a reflective property in them. The thoughts in his icy, turquoise eyes can be seen through hers. As if she reads his discomfort, she breaks away from his stare and walks ahead of him.

"I know we're not going out yet! I want to have the experience of trying to win someone's heart too!"

"I don't even know your name, jesus." He mutters, irritated at this girl's forwardness.

"So? What type of chocolate do you like?"

"White." He finally mumbles.

He is unsure if his nearly inaudible response passes her ears. But he is certain it did when she turns and gives him that characteristic effervescent, yet somehow diaphanous smile.

"My name is Hinamori Momo."

* * *

Her finger swipes off the creamy white glop off her cheek and pops it into her mouth. It is really sweet. Much sweeter than classic, children's milk chocolate.

With one arm holding a mixing bowl and the other hand with a spoon, she giggles. Usually in the shoujo manga she reads, girls make chocolate together. But, in a large kitchen that can only belong to a wealthy family with a joyful scherzo of classical music filling the empty space around her, she finds herself having fun anyway.

She finds it somewhat funny how Toushiro told her he likes white chocolate. Over the years, she was aware that all the other girls have given him dark chocolate. It was not a laughable assumption. In fact, it made sense. A seemingly sophisticated, mature guy like him...sweet things didn't suit his image. But white chocolate?

She samples her mix again and smiles.

It's almost like he's a little boy inside.

She hums and pours her chocolate into the mold while recalling how one shoujo manga character said that homemade chocolates taste wonderful because they contain the true feelings of the maker. Staring at the chocolate, she wonders what Toushiro will taste.

She sighs. Perhaps she has been too reckless in all this.

Toushiro. Silvery hair just mussed enough to be considered casual yet groomed. Eyes blue-green, remnant of arctic seas. He reminds her of snow. Of ice. Of cold. Of winter.

She likes summer.

But for some reason her heart that night told her _him_. And she promised to follow through her resolution.

So she shrugs it off and places the chocolates in the freezer, along with the conviviality of her first chocolate-making experience with them.

* * *

"He carries a sack of candies, as if he is Santa Claus...Only he is the receiver and is too greedy to share his gifts!"

An arm wraps around his shoulder.

"C'mon Toushiro! Leave some girls for the rest of us!" Abarai Renji whines.

Irritated, Toushiro shakes away his firey, long haired friend's arm. "My day has been tiring enough. The last thing I need is an idiot's complaining."

"Renji's just upset with the crop this year." His blonde friend Kira explains.

"Well anyone would be pissed off at this guy. Just look at his book bag!" Renji tries to attack him again.

Toushiro side steps and dumps his bag's contents on his friend's red head. The pile of chocolate boxes, love letters, and other miscellaneous trinkets forms a pile heavy enough to push Renji's head into the ground.

"Merry Christmas." Toushiro says casually.

Kira stifles a laugh, "That's harsh. Don't you care about the feelings all your fangirls poured into those?"

"It's always dark. I hate bitter things."

"Hey, these are white!" Renji calls out, his voice muffled from the chocolate stuffed in his mouth.

"What?" Toushiro uncharacteristically grabs the flower-shaped box from him.

That's right. Unlike the rest of the chocolates, not only were these white, but they were placed in his mailbox. She didn't even have the decency to show up at classes today, if she even was in any of his classes—her curious demeanor, however friendly, made her almost transparent.

_Oi...who puts Valentine's chocolates in a daisy shaped box?_

Some reason, he feels ticked off. She asked him to go out with her, yet cannot even properly put her chocolates in a normal, heart-shaped case. He sighs. He is aware that she deserves a person to help her out with her quest in romance. But this is too troublesome.

It can not be him.

"Hey, I'm going ahead." He raises a hand in farewell and walks away.

Hinamori Momo.

Karin told him that the girl moved here sometime in their later middle school years. But she rarely comes to classes and is not known to have joined any clubs. Actually, most people have forgotten that she exists.

_Almost like a ghost..._

He arrives before a large building, surrounded by an elaborate, lattice fence. That's right. The Hinamori family was one of the wealthiest families in town. He rings the bell outside the gate.

"Yes?" A man's voice buzzes from the speaker.

"Um...I'm a class mate of Hinamori-san. I...have something I need to return to her."

"Just one moment."

The gate opens and a middle aged man who introduces himself as Hinamori Momo's father greets him at the door. Toushiro bows, holding the case of candies as he says, "Hitsugaya Toushiro. Is, uh, Hinamori-san home?"

"I'm sorry, she's been at the hospital all day today."

"Oh...That's all right, I'll just, talk to her tomorrow then. It's not a rush. Sorry." He is about to bow and walk away when the man calls out.

"Wait. Are those...did Momo make those?"

Toushiro looks at the chocolates in his hands. The guilt starts to catch up with him and the silence is enough for the father to figure the truth.

"Hitsugaya-kun. The reason why Momo gone from school so much nowadays..."

"She told me." It is atypically rude of him to cut off an adult, but he does not need to hear again.

"Then..."

Toushiro watches as the grown, tired-looking man bows deeply.

"Please, Hitsugaya-kun. Please accept her feelings just for now. Please."

The old voice pleads. The guilt overwhelms. He is trapped.

_But can't she find someone else?_

Finally, the father's voice cracks in desperation. Slowly, he speaks. "Even though we are a wealthy family, my wife and I work long hours to support the treatments Momo has underwent. We still need to support our other children in boarding school too. Momo needs someone with her..."

_That's your problem isn't it? Don't get me involved..._

"...I will be willing to pay for my daughter's happiness...I will be willing to pay...$15,000."

* * *

She takes her bento box out from underneath her desk and slips past the congregating friends unnoticed. There are several gregarious calls of "Hey, what's up!" or "Wasn't that class awful?" or "I'm starving, let's go get bread!" surrounding her in sound, yet she feels miles away physically from everyone else. Sometimes she is convinced that she can walk right through people.

Her head knocks into something.

"Ah, Hitsugaya-kun." She shows surprise in her still-water eyes. Then she remembers to smile.

"Can we talk?"

She watches his eyes carefully observing his surroundings for any curious onlookers as he leads her to an empty stairwell, one of the ones no one ever uses.

He looks nervous. Rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes (the latter was normal for most people though).

Tilting her head, she chirps: "Hitsugaya-kun?"

"I'll...do it."

"I'll go out with you."

* * *

**A/N: I've never been able to enjoy Valentine's Day to its fullest extent. This is probably because I am constantly obstructed from my locker by this couple (who I don't even know so they must be older than me) in a makeout session as if the last period in which they don't see each other for 90 minutes is an eternity. On a particular day in February (I think you can guess which day), they take even longer to part. Since I don't have the nerve to awkwardly interrupt, I just patiently wait. I find it funny how after three years they don't even notice the girl standing there (then, of course, the guy has a different girl on him every year or half-year, so I can't blame the girl as much). **

**Anyways...Other than Valentine's Day, I don't find much significant about February. I used to have winter break but it's more like a winter "day" off from school since the school board is stupid.**

**Right. Rambling. Review as always please!**


	3. March

**March**

_The first time I learned my seasons, I wondered why March was considered part of spring. While being aware of the definition of "seasons" for the first time, I took careful note of the early March air. _

_Snow-mixed-dirt that occasionally turned into murky ice with sudden drops in temperature._

_Blustery cold winds that stung my cheeks, forcing me to muffle myself in scarves._

_Starving trees shivering in the gray world._

_I told the teacher that there must have been a mistake in considering March part of spring. She replied:_

"_March comes in like a lion, out like a lamb."_

_A few weeks after that, I saw the first rabbit of the year, nibbling at the grass peeking out of melted-snow-soaked soil. _

_I recognized a yellow daffodil, painting the town with spots of sunlight_

_What my dad said was the "equinox" passed, and daytime stretched out longer and longer for me to play._

_I guess I will miss March after all. _

_Because all wonderful things need to start off small sometime and March is that time. Because March is beautifully half-and-half; half-winter, half-spring; half-night, half-day. _

_March is stern yet gentle. _

_It is the month when things grow._

* * *

The apple he is peeling looks orange with the sunset-light striking from behind through the large, hospital window. Everything—the white bed sheets, the one-day-old cut flowers, the humming machines—seems half-dark, half-gold.

The light is gentle enough to smooth over the wrinkles on his grandmother's face and for a moment it feels as if he has been taken back to a time when his only guardian was healthy.

Then he hears the coughing.

Hurriedly, he takes the glass of water from the night stand and holds it to her lips. "Are you all right, Oba-san? Here, have an apple."

"A few coughs is nothing to your Oba-san, Toushiro." She smiles—but he can see it is weak—and nibbles on the fruit. "You should worry about yourself more." She replies as she stares at him and then frowns in a motherly worry, "It looks like you get thinner every time I see you. Have you been eating properly?"

It is just like her to divert the worry towards her grandson. He smiles, "I'm fine Oba-san, really."

"Young people these days, starving themselves to look good. You'll only look sickly by doing that, you know!"

"You know I don't care for that stuff, Oba-san."

The talk is casual. It is almost the same every late afternoon he visits. But he loves it all the same. His grandmother's soft, caring voice soothes him. It is the only time he feels no need to act guarded.

"It's almost White Day isn't it?" She brings up.

"Mhhmm." He hands her another apple slice.

"Do you still have that recipe book at home? I think there's one for chocolate..."

"Oba-san, I don't plan on giving anyone anything."

"Not even Karin-chan?" She lightly teases. "Come to think of it, you never bring Karin-chan or Yuzu-chan anymore. I wonder how much they've grown."

"Karin and I are just friends."

"What a shame. And I wanted to be at least certain that I will have grandchildren before my time is up." She laughs.

To laugh with her would be a lie of some sort. He does not want to think about a day when she will no longer greet him every afternoon and ask about his day. Losing her is equivalent to losing two people: the father and mother he never had.

He remembers what the doctor informed him a few months ago.

"_I'm sorry, but unless she can undergo the surgery, I'm afraid she doesn't have much time left. Your grandmother is very ill. Even the surgery might not ensure her health."_

He remembers the bill in the mailbox of his single-apartment—the one he frustratedly rolled into a ball and threw as hard as he could out the window, as if it was the feeling of desperation is was trying to rid.

"_$11,000...You've. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me!"_

The stiff bed sheets crumple under his clenched fists. With a powerful emotion of protectiveness running through his veins, he feels his body tense up. Or maybe it was another, much uglier feeling that gives him this sensation of stiffness as he vows aloud to his beloved, now-sleeping grandmother:

"Don't worry Oba-san. I'll get the money for that surgery. Just wait. Please just wait a bit longer."

* * *

"I don't really like rice so I'll give you mine!"

He feels a vein pulse in his temple from slight annoyance. How, in any manner, is this girl "like a ghost"? He feels like scoffing at himself for ever finding her personality transparent. Right now, she feels very much "here"...especially when she takes his amanatto stuffed bread.

"Oi! I never gave you permission!"

Too late. She bites into it and her face lights up. "Yum!"

He glares with her share of rice and eggs in front of him.

The expression on his face reminds her somewhat of a disappointed child and she giggles as she swallows the sweet bread, "You always eat bread anyway. It's not healthy, you know. It's good to have a nice, balanced lunch once and a while. If you think about it that way, I'm saving your life!" She finishes with a bright grin.

He can only heave a sigh to this logic. This is what he gets in return for giving up lunch with his friends. It has only been a week, but he is starting to question his endurance to keep up with her for a year. Well, it's not as if his friends give him any more peace of mind. In fact, the library is tranquil compared to either the student-filled classrooms or the courtyard that gets increasingly populated as the weather warms. Save two students who suffer the consequences of procrastination and one student who genuinely enjoys books, he and Hinamori are the only two in the library.

It is a good choice for someone who wants to hide. Karin, Yuzu, Renji, and Kira are under the belief that he has joined the debate club, which supposedly meets during lunch. He specifically chose this club because it is academic enough to deter them from following him.

"Hey, Hitsugaya-kun." She says almost thoughtfully as she finishes the sweet, "Can I make your bento from now on?"

Her forthright approach almost makes him choke on his milk.

Once again, he finds himself thinking, _"like a ghost", my ass._

"Don't waste your time, I like eating bread every day."

"That's okay! I like baking too!"

He thinks about how allowing such a wish to be granted would only validate their relationship more. He doesn't want to let her think that they were actually dating. Wait, wasn't that what he agreed to? Furrowing his eyebrows, he looks down at the table in frustration.

Upon hearing the rustle of papers close before him, he looks up to find a long list of types of bread.

"Oi, what is this?"

"The menu of bread from my future bakery! I've always wanted to run a small bakery business when I grow up, along with being a painter. But since I'm going to die before I can, I figured I'll just have you be my only customer!"

Her genuinely enthusiastic expression disarms him. He can only stare.

_That's not funny._

_Do you even know what you're saying?_

Being able to accept her situation so happily...as if it was a natural thing...

He can not help but feel unnerved.

About to say no, a voice in his head stops him.

"_I'll be willing to pay for my daughter's happiness..."_

Just to silence the voices in his head, he says instead, "Fine." And then awkwardly he makes sure to avert her eyes before stumbling with his words, "And...um...since I can't make food...I can—I mean, can I take you out on a...date...instead?"

_See? I'm doing more than my fair share. _He pushes down his other conscience and peeks at her face in the corner of his eye.

It is a curious expression, almost as if she is surprised. Her eyes seem as if they are contemplating something; maybe they are trying to find an ulterior motive...

"Don't look so shocked! We're...going out aren't we?" He sputters.

"All right! I'm free next Saturday!" She tilts her head and smiles.

* * *

Yuzu watches her sister fail for the 5th time at baking. The first and second time, her twin mistook sugar for baking soda. The third, she burnt. The fourth...well even Yuzu—who was the expert chef of the Kurosaki household—couldn't figure out what Karin did.

This time the cake was fine—well, at least it was edible. Unfortunately, the shape was oddly twisted and disfigured to the point that it looked unappetizing. Yuzu giggles. Karin seems unusually cute today. Such were girls in love.

"Ne~Karin. You might be better off just doing chocolate."

As she dumps the mound of cake into the overflowing trash bin, Karin grumbles, "Yeah" She then pulls at her cocoa-dusted hair in irritation, "Stupid Hitsugaya! It's all _his _fault! If he wouldn't have so many girls give him chocolates on Valentine's Day, then I wouldn't have to do something different and make him a damn cake! Why is he so popular anyway? None of them know what he's really like..." Her holler fades away to a mutter.

"You know White Day is for boys to give chocolates to girls, right? Valentine's Day passed already."

Karin looks down at the ground and fidgets a bit, "Well, I didn't want to be grouped with the rest of the girls..."

At this, Yuzu can not help but skip over and hug her twin, ignoring the brown batter and eggs on Karin's apron.

"Karin is definitely much suited to Hitsugaya-kun than any other girl." She smiles and then looks at the clock on the wall, "But it's almost midnight now and you have to finish the cake to surprise him with tomorrow on Saturday, right? So let me help you out a bit."

* * *

Her casual dress feels different against her skin—it has been a while since she has worn it in a while. There's more of a gap between her body and the fabric. Well, that's to be expected; she has lost weight since she contracted the illness. But it is a nice kind of weird feeling, to be wearing a casual dress instead of a school uniform or hospital pajamas.

And there he is, standing there in a dark blue jacket and slightly faded jeans. He's early. She smiles and wonders how long he has been standing there. With his head down and his body leaning back against the glass wall of the bookstore...To be honest, she knows that today is a result of his sympathy. But all the same, she deserves to have some fun, right?

"Hitsugaya-kun!" She waves.

He looks up from the cement sidewalk and their eyes meet.

"Hey."

"So, what are we doing today?"

"Well," He looks away, "I'm not really sure what couples do on dates...so...don't have any expectations..."

But she does not seem to mind. He notices how surrounding shopping district seem brighter in her eyes as she replies, "That's okay! I haven't been here in a while so anything is fun!"

An afternoon passes and all they have done is walk around. During that time, he was increasingly aware of the couples holding hands or sneaking kisses openly. They honestly did not look like a couple at all in comparison.

The guilt remains with him, even as they reach the end of the business strip. He asked her on a date, but what they have done so far could make today simply a day between friends.

She doesn't seem to mind. With hands clasped behind her back, she walks with her typical bounce and airy smile.

He finds it frustrating how takes joy in the simplest things. It makes it easier for him to hold his end of the bargain, so why is he complaining? Somehow, he wants her to ask for more.

Otherwise, he would feel as if he is cheating.

He shakes this thought away.

"Hey, let's go into that shop." He points a modest store in the corner.

She stares at its display case for a moment. Friendly heart cut outs strung framing the glass. Teddy bears lined up behind the wall.

The smile comes naturally. Hitsugaya Toushiro-kun is not completely like winter—he reminds her of the small fireplace light that comes with the season as well.

Agreeing, she follows him through the door. A bell rings upon their entrance and a kind, elderly man welcomes them. She looks around, noticing that most of the bins and shelves are empty. He apologizes. Apparently all the popular teddy bears have sold out earlier due to a large birthday party.

"People actually come here?..." She hears him mutter under his breath. He almost seems bothered.

There is one bin that is still half-full. She picks up one of the gray-furred, unstuffed bears and shows it to him. Putting on a smile, she brightly chirps, "Let's try it out!"

They bring it over to be stuffed and sewed. Once assembled, she held the bear out to inspect.

He restrains a wince. Being a typical perfectionist, he can tell it is under-stuffed at one arm (the one he did). He understands why there are so many of these types of bears left over. He knows that white bears are the popular ones these days, but the gray fur would have to do. For some odd reason he can not completely reject it.

It is a clumsy attempt and she knows it. As she observes their work, she blames herself for having too much fun and overstuffing one arm. The color of the bear reminds her of dreary clouds—isn't it more natural to have earthy fur? But it was charming in its own quirky way.

"Usually the children name the bears." The shopkeeper chuckled at the cash register after tying the peach-white patterned ribbon they picked out around the toy, "It's a tradition here."

They look at each other. This time, the silence is abnormally uncomfortable for him and he feels somewhat self aware. She, for once, is unsure of what to say.

Finally, she suggests:

"Shiramomo!"

He seems puzzled by this atypical name and appears to figure out its meaning.

"Get it? We both made it! So it's Tou_shiro _and _Momo_! Shiramomo!"

_Ah...too much? _ She peeks at his expression in the awkward silence. During the time they held the bear together, assembled it, and chose the ribbon, she waited for that sudden spark. A flutter.

But nothing.

She thought a push would've helped, but as she searches his eyes to see if the bear's name brings anything more than it brings her, she knows her attempt has failed.

_Ah well. _She does not let this disappoint her.

"This day was really fun!" She breaks the discomfort outside on the sidewalk as the sun sets behind them. Walking ahead and then spinning around, she calls out, "I want to show you something as a thank you!"

Before he can call her bothersome in his mind, she runs off and leaves him no choice but to follow. He sighs. Despite her bubbly personality, for some reason, she is hard to find among crowds.

Finally, he finds her standing in an empty square. Alone in the center, with a few aloof pigeons pecking at left over trash.

Maybe it is the dark obscuring his vision, but the girl in front of him has a completely different mien. There is no over-the-top giggling. No happy-go-lucky smiles. No. The girl among empty brick tiles seems vulnerable. He sees not Hinamori Momo.

He sees a lost girl who has lost something honestly dear.

Suddenly he understands that the girl before is the real Hinamori Momo.

He steps on a wrapper and she notices him.

Now the cheery armor is back. She starts with a small laugh:

"You know, my mom and I used to come shopping in this district a lot before I got sick. Maybe once a week. More if it was Christmas or my birthday. But today, I didn't recognize anything. The cupcake shop isn't here anymore. The granny that sells crepes isn't in front of the supermarket. I thought maybe at least the fountain that lights up at night would be here still. But it's not. It's gone."

Her voice—did he hear it waver at the end? Just the tiniest bit?

"That was silly of me wasn't it? Of course it wouldn't be here. Everything changes. Everything always changes and nothing stops for anyone."

_Oi, idiot. You forgot to smile._

He walks over and places a hand over her head.

"Follow me for a bit."

He leads her to an empty playground and sits on one of the swings. She sits on the other and the chains holding the rubber seat do not make a sound. The soft swishing tells him that she is kicking her feet. Right now she reminds him of a dampened feather.

"Karin, Yuzu, and I played here when we were four. Their parents told me that this playground has been here since they were kids too. Well, they renovate it once and a while, but they always recycle the materials."

He points to a small engraving on the inside edge of a wooden support bar.

"So Karin and I carved our initials here. And they've been here ever since."

The swishing stops and he can tell she is staring at the initials.

Suddenly, he feels a prickly, hot feeling crawl up the back of his neck. He puts a hand on the back of his neck yet feels no spiders. This was a sensation underneath his skin.

"Well...just, don't tell anyone about this. It's supposed to be a secret between the two of us."

His ear catches something faint. If smiles could be heard, then he thinks it is what he just experienced.

A kind of gladness spreads inside of him. A kind he can not understands. But right now he ignores his confusion and stands up, simply following intuition.

"It's getting dark."

He feels her stare. Maybe a faint surprise. He makes sure to look away from her and into the streets as to avoid the uncomfortable warmth in his face he experienced before.

She stares at his outstretched hand. After a moment's hesitation she places her hand in his.

_She really is like a feather, _he thinks as he pulls her effortlessly up.

Perhaps a few seconds passed and she stares at her right side. Her hand is still not there. Instead, it is still in his light grip.

"Th-that's what couples do, right? And don't get used to this, alright? It's just today..."

Light warmth spreads over her face like sunlight over snow. The stretch of her skin and muscles feels gentle. The curve of her lips feels natural. It has been a long time since the expression she wears feels peaceful.

"Ne, Hitsugaya-kun?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He mumbles something.

Hitsugaya Toushiro-kun is not winter. His hands are warming hers. They feel even a bit sweaty, as if unused to holding something so long. She can feel a pulse in his palm. She can feel her soft heartbeat at her fingertips. It is faint, it is lukewarm. There are no fireworks, no lights coming from the point where their skins touch, but she thinks she can appreciate this winter-melting-into-spring feeling. A feeling that reminds her of March.

"What's wrong?" He notices her staring at something in the playground.

She keeps her eyes on one of the trees by the swings but then shakes her head. "Nothing."

It may have been none of her business. That, and her usually keen sight may have failed her in the dark. But she thinks she saw something by the tree.

She thinks how it would've been a deliciously beautiful chocolate cake, had it not been smashed on the ground.

* * *

**A/N: I'll just put it out there right now: I'm not incredibly original when it comes to romantic moments. All of the moments that seem cute are most likely mashed up versions of various romantic moments I have "awwwed" at in manga/anime, other cartoons, or books. **

**As I look back, I realize that the teddy bear part reminds me of Cardcaptor Sakura. I really do wish I have a Shaoran in my life but surprisingly, that part was inspired by one of my rare, interesting personal experiences. Yes, there sits a teddy bear on my bed and its name is a hybrid of my name and the guy I built it with at Build a Bear. He's just a friend though.**

**March is not one of my favorite seasons at all...**

**Anyways, please review!**


	4. April

**April**

_Today I saw a butterfly sitting daintily on the petal of the pot of double lilies that sit on my bedroom windowsill. Some of the morning sunlight could speckle through its creamy-yellow wings. While the neighboring petal that held a raindrop from last night's shower arced downwards from the weight of the fluid bead, it is as if the petal supporting the butterfly holds nothing but air. _

_ That was when I knew it is April._

_When I was small, I used to see April as a fairytale. The garden behind my house was my kingdom. The butterflies were fairies. The deer were white horses. The iridescent flowers were villager girls in colorful dresses. _

_I wondered which princess I was. There were so many stories: Snow White, maybe Cinderella, or perhaps Rapunzel..._

_In the end, I loved Sleeping Beauty. I thought: 'how romantic would it be to be in a beautiful sleep and live in a dream until someone wakes you up and you are already at happily ever after!'_

_Now I discard my thought as naive._

_I hate Sleeping Beauty. There is nothing idyllic about slumber because I can guess what it is like. It is pitch black the whole time and there is no one but yourself. You cannot cry or call for help or even try to run by yourself because you are sleeping. Sometimes you'll dream and other times you'll have nightmares—you do anything about that either. Everything comes to a standstill, but you can't even be sure of that because in sleep there is no time. But everybody else lives in time. They are ever moving in this constantly changing world but you are not. And soon, you fade from everyone's mind and that would be the same as evanescing, wouldn't it?_

_I hate Sleeping Beauty. Mostly because I am envious. _

_She has a prince to wake her up._

_I will not. _

* * *

Placing the onigiri decorated as pandas next to the chestnuts, Yuzu nods proudly at today's bento. While wrapping the bento boxes in cloths, she calls, "Karin! It's almost time to go!"

She hears her twin's footsteps from the staircase and meets her at the doorway.

"Sorry...I overslept a little today." Karin chews on the toast her sister left on the kitchen counter.

The time it takes to get to school from the Kurosaki household is relatively long, especially since Karin is too stingy to take the monorail. Despite the distance, the walk has never been considered to both twins. But these past weeks, mornings have felt longer.

"Ne~ Karin...Hitsugaya-kun never walks with us to school anymore." Yuzu looks at the budding tree branches above.

"Hah! See if I care!"

"Ah~ maybe something happened and he's too embarrassed to see one of us..." she looks slyly in her sister's direction. Karin never did tell her about what happened after she gave Hitsugaya-kun that cake. But she assumes that something happened, because Hitsugaya-kun seems to hang out with them less and Karin's talks less about him.

Yuzu doesn't completely get it, but the clumsiness of it all makes her giggle.

She likes talking to Karin, but mornings without Hitsugaya-kun are somewhat dull because they are typically the time for her to enjoy her two closest friends' antics. After all, she can talk to her twin whenever she wants. Actually, there are times when she doesn't need to talk to Karin to understand what she's thinking.

For example, right now she can tell from her wandering eyes that Karin misses Hitsugaya-kun too. She just doesn't want to admit it.

"What? Why are you smiling at me like that?"

"Yuzu's twin sister is just too cute!" Yuzu smiles.

When they reach the school courtyard, they overhear snippets of conversation from groups of arriving students.

"Hey, hey, did you study for the Home Ec. test today?"

Yuzu's ears pick up on this and she gasps. "Wait? There is?" She wails, "Nobody told me about this!"

"Wait, Yuzu it's—

Too late. She takes off towards the group of girls she heard the conversation from.

Karin finishes her sentence sighing, "an April Fool's joke."

Alone, she trades a few materials between her bag and locker. She doesn't mind having time to herself. The only downside to having such a period during school is that there are no longer distractions from overhearing what she considers petty gossip from her female classmates.

With the exception of Yuzu, Karin finds it hard to tolerate school girls. They converse about makeup, hair, and boys—none of which tomboyish Karin finds interesting or has experience with. She would ignore them if they wouldn't talk about them all the time and in such fake, bubbly voices too.

"...he pulled a joke on you? That's so mean. I bet Hitsugaya-sempai would never do that."

"That's right! He's way to mature and cool to care!"

She cringes. It's not that it was her problem, that Hitsugaya practically had his own fanclub. But she hates how the plastic girls say his name and turn him into one of the several shallow, pretty boys they squeal over. They don't know what he's really like. They don't get him.

"Did you see them?"

"Hitsugaya-kun and that girl."

"I saw them last weekend too! The same girl!"

The sight of two shadows in the sunset sitting on a swing-set and then holding hands comes to Karin's mind. She shuts her locker with a clang.

For once she is hoping for the classic "April Fools!" announcement. She strains her ears for one of the girls to say it and then laugh.

Maybe it is just too loud in the hallways, because she doesn't hear any such declaration.

* * *

Karin watches him shut his Calculus textbook and slide it underneath his desk. From a few tables across the class, she watches him head towards the door for lunch, as if he has no one to talk to in the room. He turns left towards the library while everyone else is turning right towards the stairs that lead down to the courtyard.

"Hitsugaya!"

He looks over his shoulder.

"Ah, Devil Karin."

She smirks, maybe a bit nervously. "Where are you going?"

"Debate club, remember?"

_Liar. _It was not like her to be nosy, but she asked someone in the club this morning. They meet in a room in the complete other direction of the school. She tries to find something to say. Something that doesn't make her seem touchy-feely or prying like all the other girls. But she opens her mouth, and nothing comes out.

He starts to walk away.

"Are you dating someone?"

She said it. The words tumbled from her. They echo in the empty hall and bounce back into her ears, filling her with embarrassed regret. Her face feels hot. When did it get so hot?

_Ah, just kidding. Gotcha. April Fools. _Is what she wants to say just to push away this uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah."

For some reason, she starts laughing. It is an awkward, stiff laugh and sounds like nothing that has come out of her lips before. And there is nothing funny anyway.

"Good joke! You almost got me thinking...you know, that this whole time you've been ditching us for some girl during lunch!"

The alien-voice dies away as he replies, "It's not a joke."

She keeps the smirk—which she hopes is natural but is almost certain is not—pasted on her face as she observes his blue-green eyes. It seems serious. Genuine. But she holds the position of the muscles on her face just in case. Just in case he is trying to pull off a really good April Fools joke and is asking for a kick in the shins. Just in case he is a really good actor. He never has been for the fourteen years she has known him. But just in case.

"Her name is Hinamori...Momo."

"H-hey...joke's over...stop. Stop lying."

Suddenly he snaps, "I'm not lying!"

He watches the smile on her face wane into silent surprise mixed with hurt. It is common for him to raise his voice in annoyance at her—she is one of the few people who get to her a tone other than aloofness from him. But he has never shown such serious anger in years.

Why is he so angry at her casual accusation of lying? He is not a liar. He is not a liar.

But Hinamori's genuine expression of gratitude, softened by the darkening March sky flashes before him. And then her father bowing before him appears as well.

He covers his forehead with a hand in frustration.

"R-right. Of course. Why would you lie when you always say how annoying most girls are? Well, see ya!"

Before he can look up to question the slight, yet unusual, quaver in her voice, her back is already turned and she is sprinting away.

* * *

She looks up to greet the fat, warm drop of rainwater with her nose. Her earthy brown eyes reflect the tessellation of dark clouds above.

"Ah~! Rain!"

As more drops spot the sidewalk, her school sweater, her bag, she looks to the owner of the cheery voice. Kurosaki Yuzu-chan. The pigtailed girl is in her Home Ec. class. She makes cute bento.

"Oh, I forgot. Renji ripped by umbrella up a few weeks ago."

That serene voice belongs to Izuru Kira-kun. She sees the back of his shoulder-length, blonde hair every Literature class (one of the classes she likes, so she attends it often). He writes pretty haiku.

"It was a necessary sacrifice for my science grade!"

"Didn't you get a D?"

"Exactly! One letter grade better than my usual science lab results!"

The loud one with a red ponytail is Abarai Renji-kun. She threw back the soccer ball he punted and broke a window with two moths ago. He has a huge grin.

Her socks are damp from running through puddles. The fabric feels heavy and clings to her skin. By the time she is underneath the awning of the store front, she and the others are soaked with warm spring rain.

She watches them talk rapidly as they wait for their friend to buy his umbrella.

"Eh~Hitsugaya-kun, don't you have an umbrella with you?" Yuzu asks.

"No. I left mine at home."

"Hah! Don't look at me, I'm not sharing with you."

"Even if you did, I would still get wet from the height difference."

"What did you say? Hey! Give it back! Hitsugaya, you jerk!"

The girl with her jet black hair tied back into an athletic ponytail tries to regain possession of her umbrella, which Hitsugaya-kun is keeping from her reach by holding it with a raised arm. Kurosaki Karin-chan has none of the enthusiastic friendliness of her twin, but she seems nice all the same. She doesn't like being called short by Hitsugaya, but she seems like she has fun complaining about it. She likes watching them make fun of each other, Hitsugaya-kun and Kurosaki-chan.

Hitsugaya pauses in laughter when he catches sight of Hinamori watching them with that passive smile on her face with which he has familiarized himself. He lightly taps Karin's head with the umbrella and gives it back to her.

He heads towards Hinamori and places a hand on her head, slightly messing up her damp hair.

"Come on, let's go." He pushes her forehead a bit as a signal to follow him.

"Hitsugaya-kun! Where are you going? It's Friday! Didn't we say we would go to the karaoke bar?"

"Sorry," He replies with the raise of a hand, "I just remembered, I have an errand to run."

As they walk away from the rest of the group, he observes her walk with her eyes raised and her fingers lightly touching the area where he placed his palm on her forehead. The expression in her eyes is bright with gentle wonder.

"Oh! I have an umbrella!"

And the cheery Hinamori is back.

It awes him how quickly she disappears among other people. Alone, she seems to brim with energy. It wasn't exactly a personality change, however...

"Oi, you can talk too. When you're with them. Don't count yourself out as an outsider. You're just as weird and annoying as they are."

It has been two weeks since news spread like wildfire that Hitsugaya Toushiro is in a relationship. Most girls are still confused as to who it is and are under the impression that he is dating a sophisticated, boarding school student. The few girls jealous enough know the name of the "lucky" girl, but that is as far as their information goes.

Despite the confrontation that occurred between him and Karin, his childhood friend quickly rebounded with her usual cynical attitude towards him. Something whispered inside him that she didn't approve of his decision, but he has never been able to catch a facial expression proving such a thought. Karin has been as friendly as the rest of his friends since the time Renji and Kira first forced him to bring his "girlfriend" with him to lunch. The thing is, no matter how welcoming they are, Hinamori somehow manages to fade away. He cannot blame his friends for forgetting to include her sometimes because he has to admit: if he wasn't the one who has to date her, he probably would lose sight of her as well.

Sometimes she is so good that he wonders if it is a conscious talent.

She smiles apologetically, "Sorry. I never really got to talk to people when I was hospitalized."

Over the course of the past month or so, he has developed the ability to detect a kind of wistfulness in her ambience. It is a quiet version of her that is much like still water in the summer. But he hasn't been able to see through the water—sometimes he feels as if his sight goes a few centimeters deep before a sort of defensive sunlight shines over the surface, forcing him to see his own reflection instead.

"April showers bring May flowers...May flowers bring..." She sings, skiping into a small puddle and balancing on one foot. He watches from under the umbrella she lent him.

"Oi, you're going to get a cold."

She looks up. Instead of the blend of grays sprinkling rain down upon her face, she sees silver wires holding up the cloth of an umbrella. He avoids her bright smile as he holds the umbrella.

"So, what kind of errand do you have to run?"

Right, he has to think up of an errand.

He realizes that he doesn't have to when they pass by a cake shop.

"My grandmother's birthday is actually during spring break next week..." He asks himself what in the world he is doing but continues to stiffly say, "And I'm not that great at baking..."

"Ah! I have a book of cake recipes at home! I can lend it to you!"

"Idi—

He stops himself from making himself seem anymore awkward than he already does.

"I mean, I was wondering...if you could help me out...baking it...with me."

It is an unforced want. Unmotivated by self-satisfaction. Unaffected by obligation. He puzzles over what he expects from asking her. And he realizes that he is hoping for the simple company of Hinamori Momo. His...friend.

Friend.

Her eyes are also mixed with a sense of pleasant surprise before she replaces the bare expression with her typical smile.

"Sounds fun."

* * *

Standing before the elegantly carved, mahogany door he braces himself for the sight of Hinamori's father. More accurately, he anticipates the weight of guilt and frustration he has been trying so hard to balance to tip over and come crashing down towards his chest.

Fortunately, it is Hinamori in a casual dress who answers the doorbell.

He breathes out in respite and then readies himself again.

But upon entering the living room, which is connected to the kitchen, he drops his guard. The high ceiling is adorned with a crystal chandelier above the glossy table carved from a wood he cannot name. Pieces of furniture, all made of equally expensive-looking wood, are arranged in a manner meant to impress. But it is not the presence of the large-screened television, the marble kitchen countertop, or any of the boasting ornaments that completely surprise him.

It is the loud presence of emptiness.

Hinamori busies herself by lining the ingredients on the counter, "My family's on a cruise this vacation, so it's just me here."

She takes out a few mandarins and gives him a large smile, "This will be fun! I haven't been able to bake cake for years!"

As he mixes the ingredients she pours in, he cannot help but carefully observe her. Although she hums with that happy-go-lucky aura, he watches for a hint of something wrong.

"Are you awful with cake or something?" He thinks about the bread she bakes him for lunch. Perhaps she does make everything on the sweet side, but he has never really minded.

"Oh, that's because it's always like this. Mom and dad are lawyers and they work really hard. They're only back when I fall asleep and they're gone when I wake up. And my sisters are at boarding school. And I can't bake for myself," She tries to crack a joke as she places her two hands around her small waist, "I have my weight to watch."

He thinks about her coming home from school to this empty place with silence buzzing in the air. She sits alone at the large table meant for six and eats with only the company of apathetic furniture. She climbs up the stairs to sleep without a word, leaving the house as clean as it was in the morning as if no one ever occupied it at all.

"They should stay with you more often."

It is none of his business. In fact he seems to be more concerned than she is.

Her laughter is as bright as bells being shaken with too much vigor, "That'd be mean. Why invest time in something that you know won't last much longer?"

Something inside shivers at sight of this smiling girl.

It is times like these when she truly scares him.

He flicks a bit of the golden batter onto her forehead and she flickers an expression of surprise, "Idiot. They wouldn't mind. Why do you think I still put up with you?"

"Why do you?"

Now it is his turn to be surprised.

"Ah, Hitsugaya-kun, I think it's smooth enough."

His fingers move to turn the electric mixer off while she, under the impression that he did not hear her, reaches over to turn the contraption in his hand off as well. Their fingers meet and for some reason it takes them both by surprise.

"Sorry!" They say simultaneously, drawing quickly drawing their hand away.

The mixer clatters to the ground, spraying white batter on their faces and clothes. Flustered, both bend over to pick it up, their eyes meeting midway. The wire beaters mechanically hum as the two stare at each other in mystification at inexplicable clumsiness that was cast upon them like a spell.

* * *

Flower aroma wind dances with anything light enough to tousle. After waltzing with twin cherry blossoms, the breeze leaves its partner on the lap of an elderly woman with graying hair and kind eyes.

"The _sakura _are especially beautiful today, aren't they, Toushiro?"

Pushing his grandmother in her wheelchair across the pathway of the park, he smiles gratefully for the nice weather and the full bloom of the cherry blossom trees. Bringing him this tranquil sense of complacency the most is his grandmother's happy presence.

"They really are, Oba-san."

Until this year, his grandmother spent cherry blossom season indoors. Spring season seems to enervate her, despite the fact that it is she loves cherry blossom viewing. After receiving poor medical test results, the doctors would keep her in the hospital for precaution; he would buy a cake from across the street to join his grandmother in watching the year's blossom fall in a remote silence to the ground from the window. This morning's test result was no different from that of last year or the year before. In fact, as the doctor explained the statistics and charts, he felt as if they were even worse. But they allowed her outside anyway. He does not want the discomfort of looking too much into the doctor's decision. He simply leaves it at the fact that they were sympathetic to the fact that it is his grandmother's birthday. He tells himself that it is the only fact they are sympathetic to. It is the only fact to be sympathetic to.

He finds the large cherry blossom tree nearby. It is the same tree his grandmother used to bring him to before she was hospitalized. Two children leap from the lowest branch and run over to their father. He remembers his grandmother holding her encouraging arms out when he was too scared to jump.

"Hi-tsu-ga-ya-kun!"

Since when did a girl wearing a flower-print dress show up before him? Her brown eyes that remind him of warm spring dirt shine at him, along with her sun-bright smile.

He sighs at her ability to appear out of nowhere. "Hey."

But she is looking at something above his head. "Oh! There's a cherry blossom petal in your hair."

After spending a minute trying to brush it off and failing, he finally gives in and bends slightly over towards her. The gesture comes almost naturally, but a slight warmth rushes to his face.

She hesitates and suddenly something inside her that is as small, fluttery, and pink like the petal on his silvery hair. Gently, she picks off the flowery fragment and regains her sunny smile just in time as he looks up.

Holding the petal, she beams, "Got it!"

He hears a chuckle behind him and realizes that his grandmother's presence.

"Toushiro, you haven't introduced me to this wonderful young lady yet. I believe we've never met."

He nudges at her to introduce herself. She quickly makes a small bow, "Ah! I'm Hinamori Momo. Happy Birthday!"

"Nice to meet you, Hinamori-chan. I'm Toushiro's grandmother." Hitsugaya notices his grandmother chuckle after giving him a side-glance.

They lay a blanket beneath the cherry blossom tree and eat lunch while enjoying each other's company. Hinamori gradually warms up to his grandmother's gentle atmosphere. She likes being asked to have more egg rolls because she is too skinny. She likes having her hair twisted into a braid. Hitsugaya's grandmother reminds her of a mother who is not too preoccupied to fuss over her daughter.

But she likes to watch too. When talking to his grandmother, something seems to melt from Hitsugaya. Gone is the cool semblance. Instead, his laughs are like mild breezes. His smiles like mellow sunlight. She especially likes his eyes, reminiscent of a thawing ice giving way to spring.

Oh, that petal in her heart is back.

After a few hours, they take the mandarin orange cake out of Hinamori's picnic basket.

"How wonderful! Did you make this, Hinamori-chan?"

"Hitsugaya-kun helped." She notices that smiling does not require so much work, "Oh, I forgot the matches."

"There's a drug store five minutes from here. I'll go buy some." He gets up.

With the two of them now alone, the elderly lady asks with a smile, "Could it be that you're Toushiro's girlfriend?"

She pauses before bobbing her head, "Mhhm!"

A tender expression passes over the face worn by years. The slight folds of skin at the corner of her eyes give her an undeniable, maternal appearance. "Thank you. For taking care of Toushiro. I've always been worried that he will have a hard time moving on. I remember he told me once: 'Oba-san! I'll never like any girl but you!'"

Hinamori giggles along with his grandmother's soft chuckle. The aged woman's laughter fades, leaving but a shadow of a smile.

"That boy is so dedicated to me that it worries me. You see, Hinamori-chan, I won't be here much longer. The doctors tell him that a surgery might help and he works so hard to earn that money, I can see it. But this little body can tell that it doesn't have much left in it. And when the time comes for me to leave, I'm afraid of how he will take it. I know it is selfish of me, but when that day comes, please give him the strength to carry on."

A little boy celebrates his birthday with his family. The candlelight lights up his large eyes filled with the anticipation of entering another timeframe of life. He closes his eyes, blows the small, dancing buds of flowers out. He opens his eyes again. Hinamori can still see light of the future bright in his eyes.

She closes her eyes before replying, "I will."

She thinks herself ugly.

* * *

"Inagi. Inagi."

The monorail doors slide open and a few people exit and enter. The white walls and the map showing the stops are orange from the seeping evening sky. It tinges Hinamori's face with a warm gold as she nods off on the bench.

The hospital he dropped his grandmother off at is one of the nicer hospitals that can't be found in Karakura. Although he typically takes the 45 minute walk home as to save money, he noticed how tired Hinamori seemed from a day's worth of excitement. So this year he does not fall asleep at his grandmother's bedside. Instead, he is taking this girl he has only known for four months home.

"Ah, sorry." Her head accidently touches his shoulder and startled, sits up straight, forcing her eyes open.

"Wah! It really is her! Hinamori! Hinamori Momo-chan!"

Two girls wearing school uniforms stand before Hinamori. At the right breast of their suits is a crest characteristic of a dignified boarding school. They stare at Hinamori excitedly.

"Uwa~! I never thought I'd see you again after you transferred to public school! I was so tired after our school did that event today at the _hanami_, but now I'm so happy!~" The girl with her hair styled in fancy curls hugs her.

He does not see Hinamori return the gesture.

"Ne ne, what school are you attending now? You should've just stayed! We miss you so much!" The other girl that has a tall, model like figure says.

"That's right!" The other girl says almost too energetically, "We should visit!" She plays with the tiny braid that in Hinamori's hair, "We can go to the hair salon! Or do our nails! Right? Ne~ we'll do whatever you want! It's all up to you Hinamori-chan!"

He can feel her desire to shrink away from these overly friendly girls. He can see her impassive eyes. He can hear the emotion of the words trapped behind her lips. These girls cannot see it. They keep going. And Hinamori keeps disappearing. He is scared that soon, the light through the window will be able to shine through her and soon she will be invisible altogether.

"Choufu. Choufu."

He does not think. He grabs her hand. Grasping tight in case she dissolves into air, he runs.

He runs off and creates his own wind that pushes against his chest. He runs and her hand feels more and more solid.

She stares in bewilderment at the back of the young man pulling her along at an incredible speed. So fast. So fast. Her feet seem to fly off the ground and she is not sure how she is keeping up. But soon she accepts it and closes her eyes.

Leave behind her past. Leave behind her determined future. This is now. Now. Now. Now. And she does not know what will happen taste. And not knowing tastes wonderful.

The wind carries each weight away from his chest. One by one by one. What is death? What is money? What are lies? What is guilt?

Why he is running again? Is that laugh his?

He has no breath left and is forced to stop. Kneeling over, he tries to remember how to breathe. He looks over to the girl behind him. Her face is flushed and damp as her chest rises up then down, up then down. She is very much here. Very much tangible.

He still feels lightheaded. With still a bit of laughter left in his voice he looks around, "Shoot, where are we?"

"Ha...ha..." She half breathes, half laughs, "that...was..so...fun..."

Her voice trails off and fatigue takes her. Her light body slowly falls over.

He runs over to catch her before she hits the cement.

"Oi! Hinamori! Momo! Momo!"

* * *

The first thing she is aware of as her surroundings fall into consciousness is the rise and fall of the back she rests against. Then the veins beneath the skin of the arms that support her legs from underneath. Then her own heartbeat. Her loud loud heartbeat.

"Ne, Hitsugaya-kun." She mumbles.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"I never even knew those girls' names. They were never in any of my classes. I only recognize them because there was this one girl who scored higher than me in the national test and my parents were so mad at me but then they stopped yelling at me when I was diagnosed. And then I realized that the work I did in school and on my hair and on my friends was all useless. And then they were all so nice because, you know, when someone is dying of course they're going to go out of their way to be nice."

He lets her speak.

"But is it weird? When everyone found out that I was dying, I hated it. I hated the smiles that I've never even seen before. Everyone was so nice but I hated it. They treat me like I'm already dead. Then I realized why I had to leave. Because that way everything could be normal and no body had to stop for me. Because how is it fair to have people stop for me when I don't matter anymore?"

She isn't completely aware of what she is saying as she continues.

"Ne, Hitsugaya-kun."

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to know why I asked you out that night?"

They pass the Karakura community park.

"To be honest, I thought you would say no."

"Oi..." He cannot help but feel a bit insulted for some reason. Even though her statement holds a bit of truth.

"I thought: 'ah, it's just one year. I'll have a bit of fun with just one person. One person who probably will forget me soon anyway.' I thought I'd just have fun making the chocolate for you and you'd reject me soon. And that would be okay because at least I had the chance.

"But then you said yes. And I was really surprised. But happy. Really happy.

"So thank you, Hitsugaya-kun."

_Don't thank me. Don't make me sound so kind. _Otherwise the weight would come back, even if the girl on his back is feather-light.

He can tell that she has fallen asleep again from the peaceful rise and fall of her chest against his back. Her breath is rhythmically calm against the back of his neck. The evening air is cool but he feels warm.

Finally he reaches the Hinamori residence. Sighing at her recklessness for leaving the gate and door unlocked, he walks into the large, empty foyer. His back tired, he transfers her ethereal body into his arms as he carries her up the stairs. For some reason, he is afraid of intruding too much and lays her gently on the first bed he sees.

He should leave now. But the tiny braid is falling softly from her loose bun and frames her face. And her eyelashes are remind him of butterfly wings stained black. She is so small in that king sized bed. In that fetal position, she is guilelessly alone. In slumber, the peacefully wistful expression cannot be false.

This is because he needs to repay her for his lie. No, because she had a rough day. No. No. He doesn't know why.

But he leans over and his lips gravitate over hers.

Ah, he can't.

He breaks away and brushes his lips across her forehead instead.

Covering his flushed face, as if not wanting the inanimate witnesses of the house to tattletale, he quickly walks out of the room.

* * *

She dreams of her name.

_Momo. Momo. Momo._

The mmmm of the 'M' and the oooohh of the 'O'...they come from a boyish voice. It calls out in worry, but it sounds so nice.

"Toushiro..."

She sits up and finds herself unaware of where she is. The royal red silk underneath her, the large clock framed with wood on the wall...ah, it's her parents' room.

With the aftertaste of something faintly sweet that rolled off her tongue, she silently tries mouthing it again. The hard 't' of the 'Tou' the shushing of the 'shi'...it brings a foreign feeling to her chest.

She touches her forehead, sensing something gentle radiating from it. She has no clue what it is or what it is from, but she cannot help but smile. It is a nice, natural smile like cherry blossoms growing in spring sun.

When her feet touch towards the carpet, she feels something cold underneath the sole of the left foot. She peers downwards and picks up a small leather-bound checkbook. She recognizes her father's initials sewn elegantly on the cover.

Casually flipping through, she is about to place it back on the nightstand, thinking about how unusual it is for her hardworking father to misplace something. Then her eye catches a familiar name in her father's painstakingly neat cursive.

Pay to the order of Hitsugaya Toushiro

Fifteen thousand dollars and 00/100 cents

Memo: Time with daughter

The book of paper slips feels heavy all of a sudden. Her fingers feel tired from holding it and want to let go. But this is her father's precious checkbook and she cannot. She has to take her medication now. Why won't her legs move?

For once, she knows her smile is all wrong and mirrors her thoughts but does not bother to correct herself.

* * *

**It's unfortunate that fanfiction doesn't give an option for "slice of life" as a genre because this is honestly partly what this fic is. This chapter is longer than I thought it would be, but I feel like any shorter and the gradual changes would be rushed. **

**April, unlike March, is probably one of my favorite seasons. But that's because I have a week of break that month. Plus, it's the month of my birthday. And I just plain love flowers. So I'm pretty biased. **

**Thank you for all the reviews so far! They really show support!**


	5. May

**May**

_April is pregnant with blossoms and beauty._

_May births life._

_All the clouds stop pestering the sky and the sun can shine freely. The shafts of light strike the earth and everything is warmer because there is more motion. Everything is more vigorous, as if eager for summer to come. Even the dragonflies and beetles seem to work harder._

_Today, it is warm enough to go swimming._

_One May, the May I was four, my mother took me to the pool. We forgot my floaties so she told me to stay on the shallow end. I thought: 'of course I will stay on the shallow end, the deep end is scary'. _

_But as I kicked and splashed, I eventually found the shallow end boring. I slowly inched farther and farther out. Before I knew it, my tiny toes could no longer feel the safe, cold cement ground. With no avail, I fought to keep my head above the surface._

_Nothing but water surrounded me. It enveloped me like a strong blanket. At first I fought the feeling surging in me, pushing my breath out. It was so overwhelming, so humbling. Then I stopped fighting and opened my eyes to see the vast, watery blue. Above me, a wavy yellow light danced, teasing me for not being able to reach it. It shrunk and shrunk as everything was darker and darker. Soon, a wave of sleepiness and peace washed over her._

_Time stopped._

_When the life guard pulled me out of the water and my mother embraced me with scolding relief, I coughed and cried and coughed and cried some more. _

_To this day I am unsure what the fat tears rolling down my flushed baby cheeks were for._

_Was it the fright of losing myself?_

_Or was the beauty of surrender?_

_If that was being close to death, I wonder what the real thing is like._

* * *

8 mL...9 mL...10 mL...

Another tube.

Dark red liquid slowly fills the vial as she watches almost as if in a trance. Needles used to scare her. She used to hold a stuffed animal by her side to squeeze while anticipating the pinch of the needle penetrating the flesh of her arm. Although the sight of a thin piece of metal disappearing into her skin no longer turns her stomach over, she still keeps the company of a soft toy. It has become more of a ritual now.

For the past few months, her new companion to hospital check ups has been Shiramomo. The lopsided, dull gray-furred teddy bear has grown on her. She has come to find its idiosyncrasies endearing.

Her cell phone vibrates and she breaks her stare from the blood. It's a message from Hitsugaya:

sorry. can't hang out this afternoon. studying for university and final exams.

That's right. She remembers now. May is exam period, when seniors take tests for entrance into colleges and universities. Her parents once gave her prep books in middle school for intensive studying. Study hard. Get into a good university. Get a good job. You'll be happy-is what they told her.

She isn't taking any university exams.

She sits on the hospital bed as the nurse collects the blood and removes the needle. As another nurse covers the area where the needle penetrated her arm with a gauze pad, she thinks about how nice text messaging is. With cell phones, it is so easy to edit one's real thoughts. She types back:

that's okay! study hard! fight! p(*^ - ^*)q

Today is her final checkup. Her doctor is talking to her mother outside the room in a professionally calm and hushed voice. She doesn't need to hear him to know that he is explaining how there is nothing more they can do for her. She observes her mother's movements. Wearing just enough makeup to disguise some of the age marks, a neatly ironed pencil skirt, and a hairstyle that has her brown hair pulled back into a tight bun, her mother looks what she is: a busy woman.

Now the brown eyes that Hinamori inherited are looking at her. The tiniest wrinkles at the corner of her eyes accentuate the guarded look of hopelessness. Yet her mother looks like someone who is wary of stepping too far out into the water and losing grip of the sand beneath her feet.

Putting on a carefree smile as easily as a woman puts on makeup, she gives her mother a wave.

* * *

"Hi. I'm Hitsugaya Toushiro and even though I'm an idiot, I think I'm too good for studying." A voice mocks.

His cell phone disappears from his hand before he can catch a glimpse of Hinamori's reply.

"Honestly, how are you going to be a lawyer if you slack off on all your work?" Karin holds the cell phone as she sits across the chabudai crosslegged. Strewn across the tabletop are prep books and notes. The two of them sit on the carpet of her plainly decorated bedroom.

He heaves an annoyed sigh, "Says the person who scored lower than the so called idiot during midterms."

She points her Anatomy textbook at him, "Hah! Just watch. Your large ego is going to make you sick on the day of the exam and you're gonna fail the moment you walk into University of Tokyo. Then you'll cry as I get my acceptance letter to Kyoto University."

He eyes her with a casually bored look, "Hey Devil Karin, I think you made a mistake when you put down 'doctor' as your career choice in your senior questionnaire. You should be a professional nag."

"What?! Wanna say that again?!" She tosses her book aside and tries to attack his head. Notes and binders are forgotten as they childishly rough-house.

They find themselves on the floor. Hitsugaya's hair sticks out in odd places and tries to fix it, "Jeez, who's the idiot? You're such a kid." He can't help but laugh. It has always been like this between the two of them.

She hasn't seen him laugh like this in a while. It is a small smirk that makes him seem at ease. Although he smiled much more freely when he was younger (and shorter), at times like these, she can still see a shadow of the boy she pushed over once when they were both in diapers.

As their laughter dies away, she wishes things could stay like this. She hates the complications of growing up. She looks up at the oscillating fan on the ceiling and asks, "Hey, what do you think will happen when we graduate? I mean, you'll go to Tokyo and I'll be in Kyoto."

"Well, according to you, I'm going to be stuck here."

Actually, she guiltily thinks that she wouldn't mind this. She plans of following the footsteps of her brother and father in running the family clinic as a doctor after she graduates from a university. If Hitsugaya stays here, then things have a chance of staying the same. But she knows it is unlikely. Her childhood friend is—however much she does not like to admit aloud—smarter than her and has the ability to go to almost any university he chooses. With his financial circumstances, he might even get scholarships. She can see it. He will move on much farther than she will.

"No, seriously."

He sighs. "I don't know. I'll probably stay in Tokyo since the hospitals are better there. I'll wait for my grandmother to get better. Maybe find a paying intern. Law students get paid pretty well."

Imagining a glimpse of everyday life without him makes Karin feel lonely already. She tries to shake it off with a cynical joke, "Right. Hitsugaya's too good for this small town."

"Oi. Give me some credit. I'm not that cold hearted; I'll visit you."

And this is why she hates getting older. These complex feelings of hers that are making her feel unnaturally warm. His words reassure her. To a stranger his voice sounds aloof; but Karin knows. She knows the faint undertones of concern and laughter in his voice. She knows him better than anyone else. But lately she wonders if he has changed.

"Hey, where is Hinamori planning to go? I never see you studying with her." She asks. Hopefully it sounds casual.

She sees an expression she has never seen before on him. But it is only a flicker of an expression and before she can check if her eyes are fooling her, it is gone.

After a pause he replies, "She wants to study art. I think she's going to a conservatory."

Again with these grown-up feelings. Why does she feel a bit better about this? Art is one of those...unconventional careers. It is not as close to law as medicine is. Wait—why does this matter?

"Hey, what are you thinking about.?" He asks as he reaches for her head. It has been a gesture he's developed since the day he realized he was taller.

"Stop it. I'm not a kid." Somehow she feels annoyed and she ducks her head.

"I know, I know. Jeez." He laughs a bit.

Their eyes meet.

He really does know. Karin used to be considered one of the boys in middle school. She talked like one. Acted like one. And definitely hit like one. She still does. But it's not like he hasn't noticed that everything about her has a lean, feminine look. Even in a casual T-shirt and jeans, she's still undeniably a girl.

She's just a much different sort of girl than—

His cell phone vibrates in Karin's hands.

Somehow, the two of them are aware of the awkward silence that just passed and break their stares. He reaches to grab the cell phone from her, but she catches a glimpse of the screen: Hinamori Momo.

She wants to know what she sent him. She doesn't want to know.

He can tell that she is staring at the cell phone in his hand. A feeling of paranoia reaches him. Karin is the only person close enough to him to possibly figure him out.

"Sorry." He apologizes and gathers his stuff, "I think I should get going now." Before he leaves, he gives his smirk-that-is-meant-to-be-a-smile and says, "See you tomorrow."

She realizes that Yuzu should be back from cram school (Karin admires her twin for her impressive home economics skills that surpass all others by far, Yuzu is admittedly not as intelligent in other subjects as Karin) and she should try making dinner for her hard-working twin for once. Before she leaves her room, she stops in front of the full-sized mirror. When her father first bought it for her she yelled at him and told him she would never ever be such a girl as to spend time looking at her own reflection.

But for the first time, she wonders at the girl in the glass.

She wonders what Hitsugaya sees.

That expression she thought she saw pass through Hitsugaya's eyes comes to mind again. Never has she seen anyone able to evoke such a look from him with the mention of his or her name. It is such a foreign look coming from his face. Such a foreign look mixed with so many feelings that she does not believe she would be able to recognize it on anyone else's face.

It is still difficult her to understand. Hitsugaya and that girl who is for some reason unmemorable when thought about alone. When she first started giving them side glances in homeroom, she thought it was some silly mistake—Hitsugaya must have hit his head or something. Because they seemed like strangers. They did not fit the definition of couple that most students have in mind when they first start dating.

They do not. Hinamori gives him sweet bread wrapped and tied with a ribbon every morning. Sometimes he offers her his ear buds to share some new music. No handholding. No hugging. No cute moments for girls to squeal at and guys to tease about. To most, it is a relationship sure to end soon—a fluke. But to Karin...the look those two share in conversation is oddly mesmerizing. It is as if they hold a secret between them, a secret that makes them seem much older.

It scares Karin.

The phone in her father's office rings and shatters her thoughts. Somewhat relieved, she lightly jogs across the hall and picks up.

"Ah, Karin-chan..."

"Oh, it's you. What?" She brusquely answers.

"Ouch. Daddy works so hard you know? He deserves a bit more love than that!"

"What did you forget this time?" She gets straight to the point.

"Ah, I left a patient's transfer information in one of the cabinets. Could you drop it off at the clinic for me? The last name is Himura."

Holding the phone between her shoulders and her cheek she searches through Ha-Hyou section of the file cabinet. Mistaking the "n" for a "m", she grabs the wrong file and opens it.

"Did you get it? Karin—

She stares at the picture of a young girl—no more than 13 years old—in the corner of the file. Plain brown eyes. Plain brown hair in braids. Characteristically forgettable. At the top of the information sheet: Hinamori Momo.

Below the name is the reason for transfer: More advanced treatment needed.

Unable to stop herself from reading, she finds information that should conjure sympathy inside her. She hates herself and her complex thoughts.

Because instead, she finds herself incredibly and undeniably angry.

* * *

"Alright! Hopefully all of you guys are studying hard for your exams, but it's also nice to have a break and it's our last summer Cultural Festival here as well! Our homeroom is doing a cosplay café! The theme is fairytales!" The female representative hollers over the increasingly loud chatter.

"Whoohoo! Yes! Cosplay!" Two of the guys high five.

"This is so wrong. All the girls end up having to get dressed up and doing all the work." One girl whines.

"Some of the guys have to cosplay too! We're going to try to attract female customers as well!" The male representative reassures.

"Okay! Here are your jobs! No complaining and no switching!" The girl in the front of the classroom yells before anyone else can disrupt. "We have a week to get this ready! So get moving!"

As the students begin collecting themselves into groups and distributing work amongst one another, Karin makes her way to Hitsugaya.

"Hello, ouji-sama." She mocks.

"Shut up. This is complete and utter exploitation against will. It is inhumane." He grumbles

From her seat by the window, Hinamori watches the badinage. She smiles. They sure like to pretend how much they hate each other. But they look well together.

Ah—what is this feeling squeezing her chest ever so slightly?

She doesn't have the right to feel this. The image of her father's check reappears in her mind. It reappears in her dreams more and more now too. Whenever she pretends that she never saw, she remembers the way Hitsugaya looks at his grandmother ever so caringly.

She does not want to deal with these feelings now.

She shakes her head as if doing such a thing could unravel the grasp of the thoughts haunting her and fling them away like May beetles. Hitsugaya is walking towards her now. She puts on a smile.

She does not know. She does not know. She does not know.

"Oi...did you get a job?"

"Nope!" She chirps and then laughs sheepishly as if it is her fault, "I guess they forgot about me..."

How odd. He looks so irritated at this little blunder. She watches him walk towards the male representative.

"Oi, you forgot to give Hinamori a job."

The eyes behind the glasses seem intimidated by the expression on Hitsugaya's face and then confused. "Hinamori...?" He looks over Hitsugaya's shoulder, notices a plain girl that does not quite register complete familiarity, and looks down to realize that he has indeed missed a name on the class roster (funny, he could've sworn there were only 21 in the class) "Oh. Right, right. Sorry. Slip up. She can do decorations."

Hitsugaya turns his head towards her, "Oi, what do you like?"

She looks up and beams, "Painting!"

"You can help Kurosaki-san outside with painting the castle cutout." The representative pushes his glasses up the rim of the nose.

"Hitsugaya-kun~ We need your measurements for your costume!" A girl calls out excitedly.

She watches him sigh in exasperation before heading towards the crew of females who attack him all too readily with measuring tape. Then she heads down to the courtyard, where she finds a tall, black-haired girl wiping a small bead of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand that holds a thick brush. Kurosaki Karin is different from all the other girls. She is tall and not thin, but rather toned. She looks almost masculine but in a beautiful sort of way as she works under the hot May sun. She reminds Hinamori of a sort of warrior she has read about in books, strong and sure.

"Um...hi! I told them I liked painting, so they told me to help you out!" Hinamori smiles brightly and picks up a brush, "What can I do?"

Karin looks at the thin girl. Hinamori Momo is not small enough to be considered one of those cute, chibi-mascot sort of girls. Rather, she is of medium height yet petite in her own way. Brown hair, brown eyes...she is very much bland. Yet the way the sun seems to shine through her as if she were made of some sort of gossamer fabric is bizarrely entrancing.

She cannot help but inwardly scoff. _They can't put them in pretty clothes so they send them outside to work. _

"You paint the cutout garden. I'll do the building." She finally says. Hinamori Momo seems delicate like some glass doll; more suited for the intricate work of a refined brush rather than laboring toil of a broad brush.

They paint in awkward silence before Karin can not take it anymore. When she and Hitsugaya played the silent game, she would always lose.

"Hey, what do you even see in Hitsugaya? I mean, in reality, he's not cool at all. He's sarcastic and always likes to tease people. He's full of himself and...and..."

Hinamori stares at her for a moment, as if unsure about how to respond.

_See? Do you even know him?_

But then she smiles, "Maybe Kurosaki-chan just sees a different side of him?"

_Hey, what is that supposed to mean? _It's true. When Hitsugaya is with her, he is aloofly playful. His eyes are somewhat teasing. His smirk is friendly. But when she watches him walk home with Hinamori, he is tranquilly calm. His eyes are warmer. His smirk is closer to a smile.

Maybe it is just her lost skill with socialization, but Hinamori senses the discomfort in the air. She stipples the shadows of the roses with her brush at a faster pace and starts to ramble.

"I meant that, Kurosaki-chan is just really close to Hitsugaya-kun. So he probably shows his real self or something. Or maybe—

"I know." She suddenly interrupts.

"Eh?" The thin brush stops above the cardboard.

"I know that you're dying."

_Shit. _Karin curses herself for acting on whim. But she wants to see how the girl reacts. Maybe she is not some sort of fairy like she seems to be—all light and fluttery. Maybe she is hiding a shadow and then Karin can prove to herself better. But that makes Karin a shadow, a monster of the dark. It is a never ending cycle of ugly feelings.

The lilting laughter she gets as a response catches her off guard.

"Ah~ Yep! But ne~Kurosaki-chan, could you not tell anyone else—

"Did you tell Hitsugaya? Before you guys started going out? Did you tell him?"

Hinamori Momo almost all too willingly nods her head. "Mhhm!"

Ah, it pisses her off. It pisses her off so much, that clueless smile of hers. She can't control it anymore, this muscle tensing, chest constricting anger. Her voice starts out so quiet so tight so cold that it even scares herself.

"Unfair...so unfair. All this time I've been working so, so hard—even those other stupid girls too—just to get him to see me. And you just come along."

The girl blinks.

"I know Hitsugaya. He's kind. He's loyal. He would never abandon someone like you. Don't you get it? You're just taking advantage of his sympathy!"

She waits for that doll-like face to shatter in realization. Waits for the truth to hit her in the forehead and knock her down to her knees in apology. But the response she receives frightens her, for the girl with the small paintbrush is unfazed. Rather, she smiles and huge smile as bright as the sun that beams through her.

"Yep! I know."

So she has been played the fool here. Karin quivers in disbelief at the revelation that Hinamori Momo will never shatter in realization because she already knows. She has known for a long time. And here she stands as if she is innocent.

"You're awful! It's so unfair to him! He has so much to worry about and you just take advantage of him! He's not some item on a bucket list! He's Hitsugaya Toushiro! And I love him!"

She has lost control of her voice. When did it get so loud? When was she so heartless? The girl before her is dying, isn't she? Shouldn't she be kinder? But she can't. She can't do anything but hate her for that smile.

Hinamori Momo watches Kurosaki Karin stomp off. Finally she can relieve herself of that painfully cheerful expression.

"_You're awful!"_

"_It's so unfair to him!"_

"_He has so much to worry about!"_

"_You just take advantage of him!"_

"_He's not some item on a bucket list!"_

Solitary in the stagnant, air of almost-summer, she parts her lips. The first breeze of the day carries her soft words of profound sadness into the lonely sky.

"I know all of that too."

* * *

There is a prince in the classroom that clothed in a midnight blue, royal tailcoat with gold ornaments. He valiantly wields a sword that hangs on the left side of his waist. His moon-silver hair seems slightly tousled as if he came from an easy battle of swordsmanship and his ocean-eyes scan the area. His expression makes him seem more regal than all the other costumed students serving food and drinks.

Hinamori allows herself this romantic, fairytale image before giggling at the truth of what she is seeing.

Toushiro-kun is incredibly, incredibly bored.

Ah, she means Hitsugaya-kun. Someone like her shouldn't be able to say his first name as if they are dear friends. Kurosaki Karin's words whisper in her heart. Someone like her? There's no one like her. She is definitely the worst.

"Your drink."

That's odd. No one noticed her to ask for her order. She stares at the carbonated peach juice in a tall glass placed before her. Peering up from the lonely table, she sees the prince remembers her smile. "Ah! Hitsugaya-kun!"

Since she was not assigned to cosplay, she was free to roam about at the festival. But after watching other classes perform plays and attending some bazaars, she got bored and found herself back at their class's cafe, where Hitsugaya was working as a prince-waiter.

"Kyaa~! Is that 3-A's Hitsugaya Toushiro-sempai?! I want I picture with him!"

She beams as he sighs, "Oi, Yuzu. This better be the last one. I want a break." He calls over his shoulder to the princess in a baby blue dress.

"Hai, hai~ Good work~!"

In front of one of the many backdrops Hinamori painted, he stands with his typical, unaffected expression with three sophomore girls as the student photographer takes the commemorative photo. When he returns, he seems much more comfortable in the summer school uniform.

"Come on, let's go."

She finds it curious how just by having one person next to her, everything she has already visited seems to alter...everything seems magnified. The smell of crepes is sweeter. The spring-turning-into-summer air is warmer. Everything is closer.

Sundown comes almost too quickly. Hinamori watches stalls become abandoned and students gather at the center of the school yard, loitering excitedly about the immense pile of wood. A bonfire...she has never experienced one before.

"Oi! Hinamori! Watch out!"

Too late. She feels the impact of something large knock her over. Scenes shifted too fast before her eyes. She thinks herself mentally feeble as she blacks out for a moment, overwhelmed by the suddenness. There is something tapping on her ankle. No, something hitting her ankle. Hitting it with tiny needles. Then large rocks.

Slowly, she is able to realize that she is on the ground. Towering over her is a muscular senior—she thinks he is on the judo team.

"H-hey...I'm sorry! I didn't see you there..." He apologizes.

Ouch. It hurts. Her ankle. Before she can smile can tell him 'no problem!', an arm reaches out, grabs the guy by the lapels and pushes him against the nearest stall.

Oh. It's Hitsugaya.

"She was right there! How could you not have seen her?!"

_It's okay. It happens all the time. It's okay. Please stop._

"Geez! Calm down, Hitsugaya. This is so unlike you. I said sorry, didn't I?"

Watching fire light above the sea in his eyes, she feels a pang inside her chest—and that wasn't even what she fell on. She happy that he is expressing what she would never have the nerve to express. No, no she isn't. She shouldn't be happy. She is upset at herself.

Realizing that this reaction really is unlike him, he lets go of the idiot judo kid. He wonders why he is so frustrated and looks at the palm of the hand he used to grab the other student. Calming down, he turns and holds out his hand. He turns his head away, avoiding her eyes.

"Are you okay? Can you get up?"

She nods as cheerily as the time he asked her for crepes earlier today. Lifting her arms, she flexes, "I'm good!" She purposely avoids his hand and tries getting up on her own.

Ouch. It hurts to stand on her right ankle. She slips and falls back down.

"Oi...use my hand." He kneels down and faces her.

For some reason, she doesn't want to look at him. She doesn't want his hand or help. For once she fully understands what her mother felt when she looked at her dying daughter—that feeling of not wanting to be overpowered and drowned in emotions that could pull you in at any moment if you wade too far out from the shore.

He doesn't get what she is thinking. But right now he thinks that she is being stupid, trying to do everything herself. So he takes her arm and throws it over his shoulder.

The darkness shields her face as she wordlessly hobbles into the nurse's office with him. Since the nurse is not there, he watches her bandage her own ankle on the bed. They sit in silence.

"Ah, the bonfire dance is starting."

He is relieved to hear the buoyant voice he has grown accustomed to, "Yeah."

"Aren't you going to join?"

"No. I can't dance. I mean you're here..." He trails off. What is he saying? Is he really taking their dating this seriously? He can dance with anyone he wants, because what they have isn't really _real_. But...

"You should go! It's your last dance!" He doesn't leave and so she giggles teasingly, "Hitsugaya-kun, don't tell me you've fallen in love with me~"

And then she waits for his response.

Right. Of course not. Definitely not. This was just a deal. Yet reluctance is a small weight strung to his feet when he gets up and leaves.

"Yeah right...See you later."

His footsteps fade into the silence of the evening.

Good. It worked. The upward curve of her lips falls gently flat. Now she is alone, how everything should be.

The motion sensor lights of the room flicker off.

Now the bonfire has started. From the linear gaps of the window blinds, she can see gold, orange, red come to life. The fire's breathes a luminescent light to its surroundings. It sends ribbons of chiffon gray into the deep purple air so rich that it nearly renders the smoke unnoticeable.

More and more schoolmates begin pairing off. She finds Kurosaki Karin in the crowd, who spots someone and, with somewhat nervous footing, runs up to him. It's Hitsugaya. They hold each other awkwardly at first. He looks at the fire and she looks up at the sky, both too embarrassed to face each other.

It is a beautiful sight that brings to her face a tranquil, distant smile of gentle melancholy in the dark, where she can only feel the soft radiation of what burns brightly below.

The band plays a jovial tune that fills the atmosphere to the brink with life. The fire sways and glows with the eager passion of vitality. And as Kurosaki Karin and Hitsugaya Toushiro dance, she can see near them little floating sparks of future circling round and round.

* * *

**A/N: I've seen so many school/drama/romance genre anime that I can't really credit the bonfire part. Maybe it was Cardcaptor Sakura...but didn't Toradora have a bonfire part too? Oh yeah, it did. Well, here's a tip of the hat to all the school romances with bonfire dances in them.**

**I read a comment asking whether Rangiku or Aizen will show up and whether Kira will play a larger role. Unfortunately my answer is no to both questions. I hope that doesn't deter anyone from the fic, but I figured I might as well be honest :) Since the school is ending in this fic and the characters are seniors, the atmosphere of this fic will start to change a bit...**

**Is there anything else I need to comment on...oh yes. Japanese emoticons. I do love them so. You have to admit, it's pretty impressive how many faces you can make on a keyboard. ~(=^‥^)ノ -this is supposed to be a cat**

**（○゜ε＾○）This is me trying to convince y'all to review...(it's supposed to be a winking face)**

**^(#｀∀´)_Ψ This is me if you don't review (that's supposed to be the devil I think)**

**(*m*) And this is me if you choose not to review anyway... **


	6. June

**June**

_Cute ladybugs on heart-shaped leaves. Fresh strawberries sparkling with morning dew. Cicadas singing in an unrushed andante. Sweet mango shaved ice. Sand like silk between my toes. Yummy peaches that tickle in my hands. Murmurs of the ocean in conch shells. _

_I like to think of all my favorite things in June, like Maria from the Sound of Music, when June thunderstorms roll above. I sing them softly to myself._

_It's not loud enough to block the angry roar of the thunder. And the hot white flash of lightning that comes from the gray window and invades my bedroom leaves after less than a second, stealing the volume of my voice each time. _

_Through the furious rampage of rain pounding on the earth, I can see a light from the neighbors' window. They are a nice family with two small children. I imagine the young couple showing two little boys shadow puppets. Even though there is no electricity, it is still light for them because that one flashlight is enough and they are enough for each other. _

_I imagine that all the other households are like this, and the large quilt blanket I hide under is not warm enough. The army of rain beats in an incensed frenzy and hurts my ears. And there goes another flash that steals a piece of my voice. The last piece._

_I can't sing anymore. I stopped praying a long time ago, because I learned that hope makes the wait seem longer. All I can do is endure and tell myself that soon this will only be a bad memory—another storm among others I spend alone with eyes shut tight and ears covered with shaking hands that push too hard and give me a headache. _

_It will pass. It will pass. It will pass._

* * *

The paper in his hands could not be his. He does not know how to react and so he stares blankly. If he tilts the report a bit, the orange glare from the setting sun covers the numbers.

With a sigh, the teacher swivels his chair with a creak to face him. The glare is gone.

"This is the mock exam result. It is good, very good for an average student. But...it may not be good enough for Tokyo. To be honest, I was certain you could've done better. Of course, I understand that you must be stressed. You still have a few weeks to improve. Or perhaps this result doesn't represent your skills accurately and you were simply not feeling well that day..."

"I understand. I'll give it my all the next few weeks. Have a nice evening." He stiffly bows and walks out of the teachers' office.

As he briskly walks down the hallway, the squares of orange light cause his quietly frustrated expression to alternate between light and dark.

He has let down his grandmother. His grandmother, who worked so hard to raise him so that he would have a great future that she fell ill. He cannot repay her with success. He cannot even pay the money for that surgery. He cannot even be a good person she can be proud of. Suddenly his blood boils with self-loathing. What has he been doing all this time?

He has to work harder. Much harder.

What did he waste time on Monday? Visited his grandmother...did some errands...went to his job shift...He can't think of anything. What about Tuesday? No. Wednesday? Thursday?

Wait.

The image of a girl with brown hair, brown eyes, and a happy-go-lucky smile comes into mind.

That's right. On Monday he exchanged a few texts with her. Tuesday after studying he had some ice cream with her. Wednesday he heard she was feeling under the weather and dropped off some pudding.

He violently slams his hand against his locker with all the frustration of someone searching for an outlet for blame. As if the punch drained him, he tiredly rests his head against the cold surface of the metal.

There is an undeniable, uneasy feeling of losing sight seeded inside him.

* * *

Bohr shift...oxygen affinity...hemoglobin...in the synthetic lamplight, all the words blur on the page into one, discriminate streak of ink. Tiny needles prick her eyes, egging her to close them and rest for a bit...

Karin shoots back up, sitting with a straight back at her desk. She checks her digital clock. 10 PM. Six hours of studying. Just two more for today, she encourages herself.

She notices a light turn on outside her window. It belongs to one of the small apartments of the cheap, modest building next door. It is close enough for her to notice the details of the shadow that enters the room.

She wonders how Hitsugaya does it. She imagines that if it were her with the grandmother in the hospital to care for, her with the four hour job shift, her with the pressure of expectations, she...well, she can't even fully imagine it.

His face yesterday was so pale and tired. She wonders if between working and studying, he gets any sleep or just simple respite at all. For some reason, she feels as if she needs to help him.

Her back is hurt from arching over books and she stretches out her stiff limbs before heading downstairs.

"Hey. It's 10, where the hell are you going?" Her brother raises an eyebrow as his little sister pushes him aside from the fridge and grabs the left-over, half-watermelon. "That came from my salary, you know."

"Out."

He looks at the watermelon in the plastic bag, "Hey...I know it's Hitsugaya...but don't do anything funny, alright?"

He barely escapes the wrath of the orange that comes from Karin's softball-practiced arm. He watches in amusement as his little sister's face turn dark red and storms out the door.

"Ichigo-nii, you idiot!"

When she reaches the front door of Hitsugaya's apartment, she hesitates. The June night is cool and quiet, and she interrupts the tranquility with two quick knocks. Hitsugaya always told her that she has no patience, but hasn't she been waiting for too long?

She places her hand on the knob and twists. It is unlocked, how forgetful of him. Cautiously entering the apartment she observes the surroundings. There is the slightest hint of mold creeping at the corners of the ceiling. One of the wan light bulbs flickers and buzzes.

She walks from the kitchen into the small living room. The meager amount of furnishing makes the loneliness louder. It is not hard to spot him lying on the floor with an arm over his forehead. His face uncharacteristically flushed and shining with perspiration.

The watermelon falls to the ground with a thump.

"Hey! Hitsugaya! Wake up!"

He pushes through the heat suppressing him. The effort it takes to open his eyes is surprising. There is a faint outline of a girl leaning over him. Straight black hair. Cool dark eyes. She reminds him of Karin.

"Hitsugaya!"

That voice. It must be Karin.

"Oh. Hey." He feebly mumbles. He hears his voice lost in the heat.

Karin heaves a sigh of relief. "You idiot. You have a fever."

"Stop overreacting. It's just a bit hot. You know how I hate hot weather." He tries sitting up.

She reaches to help him. "Hey! Don't push yourself! You really are sick, you know. I don't even need to study biology to know that you need a break."

Their eyes meet. His eyes seem bluer than usual. No, maybe they're greener. She is made very aware that her hand is on his back on the school dress shirt that is slightly damp from sweat.

He breaks the silence with a laugh that lacks humor or levity, "I definitely do not need a break. If anything I need to try harder."

Something tugs inside of Karin. This is why she worries about him. This is why she likes him. He tries so hard, yet never pauses for self-congratulation. She wants to help.

"I missed last year's cut off score by ten points on the mock exam." He quietly says.

So this is what all the recent days with vapid eyes and fatigued footsteps have been about. She fakes a mocking laugh to reassure him, "So what? It's just a mock test. Jeez. You're going to be such a crappy lawyer if you freak out over the tiniest things."

"The exam is in a week. It's all my fault for being such an idiot. What if I fail? Then what have I worked for? What will I do? I'm completely lost and useless." He closes his eyes.

As if even the thought of being angry tires him, he falls over, leaning on Karin's shoulder.

"H-hey!"

"Just let me stay useless like this for a while." He mumbles before drifting off the sleep.

She has never noticed how long his eyelashes are and how feminine they almost make his face look when staring up close. His sleeping face is so unguarded like a child's. But she is cognizant of how heavy he is. She is cognizant of the broad shoulder against her side. He really is no longer the chibi brat she used to tease.

He really does have a fever. And maybe she has caught it too.

She closes her eyes.

This isn't good for her testing. But she doesn't care.

* * *

She has forgotten what boredom feels likes.

White light from the bright sky streaks through her window, setting her room ablaze with summer heat. Cicadas drone. She wants to fight against this laziness, but there is nothing to do. Rolling over on her bed, she wonders at the sun. So bright. Out of curiosity, she stares into its radiance. She can see rings of rainbows...

Oh right, that's not good for you. She turns away. Now her vision is filled with black spots. Finally she is able to read the time on her wall clock.

9:00 AM

He should be in the lecture hall now. Knowing him, he will choose a seat in the middle row. Everyone else sitting around him will be chewing their pencils or biting their nails, fingers trembling in anxiety for the ink behind the cover of the test booklet. He is probably nervous too. Only his countenance shows nothing but that icy determination she has come to know.

Taking the neglected cell phone from her night stand, she stares at the message she composed at 6:00 AM:

you can do it! fight! p(* w *)q

(message not yet sent. send message?)

She hits the 'reject' button for the fourth time. Now is not the time to selfishly bother him with their pretend relationship.

For the last three weeks, they have stopped exchanging mails. She understands why she never sees him or talks to him anymore. This exam is important. Very very important for someone who has so much potential. If everything were still normal, she'd be studying just as hard. Maybe she would be taking the same exam, following her parent's footsteps. But now _this _is normal.

This emptiness in the house as everyone outside is working hard for the future because it matters—for her, this is normal.

When things first started off like this, she thought it might be fun to be free from all the obligations and expectations. But now she wants to work hard for something that matters too... She wants to feel closer to him...she reaches out to him, but she is chained in place while he walks farther and farther and farther...

She forces a laugh before somber thoughts pervade any further. On the spur of the moment, she gently picks up the gawky gray bear from the shelf and holds it before her. Every single time she looks at it, she can't deny that it really is sort of ugly. But at the same time she likes it. A lot.

"Ne Shiramomo. You're a weird bear, you know?"

She wishes Hitsugaya to be back.

And when she catches herself wishing that he fails his test so he can stay, a painful smile twists her face and she knows that she doesn't deserve his kindness.

* * *

The aroma from the bouquet in hands smells unfamiliar. He has always given his grandmother tulips on his way to the hospital. But when he let Hinamori accompany him (she and his grandmother get along well) one time, she laughed when she saw him buy the flowers from the shop. Apparently purple tulips mean royalty and wealth. So she ordered some mixed carnations, which mean good health. He stares at the warm, summery foliage of carnations in his hands as he walks down the road.

He hopes they don't wilt before he finishes the last mile to get there. It's so hot that he is surprised they aren't already dead. He hates summer.

But at least he is done with exams. If it weren't for this incredibly suffocating heat, he'd feel much lighter with the weight of anticipation off his shoulders. He feels confident that he did well. Now that he no longer has to study, he can have longer hours taking care of his grandmother, whom he hasn't been able to see as often due to his exam schedule. Today will be the first time he's seen her in a week. He feels guilty for this.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrates. Checking the screen, he hesitates upon seeing: Hinamori Momo. He stands for a moment and then shoves the phone down his pocket before walking again. She can wait.

It takes him ten minutes for another form of guilt to sink in. He sighs and takes out the phone to check the message:

dear hitsugaya-kun,

i'm at the bridge between karakura and choufu. please don't come after me, but thank you for your time with me.

goodbye.

His eyes widen. _What the hell is this?_

He wants to pass it off as a joke. A really bad joke that he will yell at her for later. If he gets to see her later. But it's a joke—right?

It's true that he hasn't paid that much attention to her lately. What if something happened? Knowing her family, she is all alone. It wouldn't be surprising if the only person that really talks to her is him.

_Shit._

He drops the flowers and sprints back from where he was walking from, cursing the damn heat. By the time the bridge is within sight, his T-shirt is soaked heavy with sweat. He kneels over a bit, trying to catch his breath from the humid air. Looking up, he sees a shadow. Her shadow.

"Ah. He fell for it." She says in a quiet sort of levity. He thinks he might have heard a tinge of sadness but his own loud breathing obstructs his hearing. Plus, he feels a bit too annoyed to care.

"Oi...you...you weren't planning to-?

"Just kidding. I wouldn't commit suicide. I'm not brave at all enough to do that. Not brave at all." The glare blocks her profile from his view, he can't tell what kind of smile she is wearing this time. But the aura seems...off.

"Oi! Don't just do things like that! Do you know how far I had to run—

"I know it's selfish of me, right?" She laughs halfheartedly. But afterwards he feels as if her voice is hollow.

"I know you're really busy and that you probably wouldn't want to pay attention to me." Her voice is light, but it is air filled with pieces of lead. "I wouldn't either. But you see, I have something really important to tell you."

The heartbeats in his eardrums are reaching a diminuendo. The air is still and calm, half-filled with only the hum of summer heat.

"Ne~ Hitsugaya—

The buzz of his cell phone in his sweaty palm. That's right, he was too worried to stick it back into his pocket and ran the whole way here with it in his hand.

It is the hospital.

He automatically answers, "Hello?"

"Ah, is this Hitsugaya Toushiro-kun?"

"Yes."

"Ah...it seems that your grandmother had a seizure earlier—

Click.

All this time wasting. What has he been doing this whole time? He should be by his grandmother's side right now.

"What's wrong?" The look on his face scares her...because it looks scared. She cannot help but feel worried.

No time. No time. He needs to go. But before leaving, he squeezes out hoarsely.

"It's my grandmother."

* * *

The first thing he sees in the hospital room is the bed. And his grandmother peacefully asleep under the covers. The electrocardiogram beeps in even intervals, almost like a sort of calming lullaby after a while.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to see a nurse.

"She's alright now. Don't worry, we have her stabilized."

He nods dumbly and walks over to the bedside. He ignores the empty chair—where he should have been in his grandmother's time of need—and the relief is so draining that he can no longer stands. Kneeling with his head laid on his grandmother's leathery, bony hand, he almost feels like crying.

He is so lucky. So lucky he isn't alone right now. So lucky he wasn't punished for being such an awful grandson.

Hinamori watches at the door. There is a force field keeping her from walking in; a beautiful, moving privacy she cannot, and will never be able to, touch. For over there, where Hitsugaya rests his head on his grandmother, is a place for kindness. A place where she does not belong. So she decides that it is time.

"N-ne...that's great, right? She's okay." She puts on a smile. It's a good thing the setting sun brings a glare into the room. Hopefully it hides her face.

"Great?" Suddenly an inferno rushes through his blood. It is a flash—like lightning—and it leaves him gripping the sheets until his knuckles are white. His voice trembles.

"What is so great?" He quietly asks.

He guesses that this is anger. A rage that laid dormant in him for months, a deadly composition of frustration, guilt, desperation...and her voice is the match the sparks it alive. It roars in his blood. He struggles to control it.

"My grandmother could have died...alone because I was with you. Because you played that stupid joke."

"It was something important—

"It's not." He cuts her off. He can't keep it back any longer. Standing up, he feels all the fire leave him. There are only cold thoughts left. Ugly emotions. But he is ice and he does not feel like the criminal anymore.

"I'm so tired of it. You don't get it. What I have to go through. What I have to fucking live with every day." The ice breaks and a deluge of hatred bursts. He is disgusted by his own lack of control, and yet this only fuels the hate. It is a deadly spinning wheel, reeling reeling reeling, slamming at everything in its path.

"You're in the way of everything! Why do I have to pay attention to you? Nothing you do or say even matters-but I still have to waste my time playing your goddammned games!"

Hatred. So much hatred. She can see it in the frosty layer of ice in his eyes. And the pitch black fire of his pupils. All the hatred. All for her. All well deserved.

She smiles, just like the time she smiled for her parents when the doctors first told her she only had a year. She has gotten much better at smiling since, but right now she can only pull off the amateur expression from a year ago. Reaching into her bag, her fingers gently pull at a thin rectangle of paper. Funny how it feels so heavy. By the time she places it on the bed, she feels so tired from its weight.

The machine beeps.

"What is this?" There's something in his throat. He feels as if whatever he threw rebounded and hit in square in the chest. And it must have been extremely heavy because his chest burns.

He knows what it is. And it does not fill him with relief, or thank-gods, or any happiness of the sort like he thought it would.

"It's the money." She smiles, as though nothing in the world were wrong and all is fair and just and wonderful and oh so perfect.

He notices how she feels so far. As if the bed separating them is a mile, no two miles, no even more. It is an unspeakable distance that he cannot measure.

Her eyes are in his. His eyes are in hers. And he cannot figure what lies beyond those irises as she softly says, "You see, Hitsugaya-kun. You're free."

"What?" He does not understand.

One last time she smiles. A big smile. A happy smile. It is the last stretch of the battle so she tries real hard to make it cheery and she tilts her head.

"You don't have to waste your time with me anymore. You're free."

"Oi, wait—

Now it's time to go because she can't keep this up much longer. She needs to go otherwise she'll break and hate herself for being so despicably fragile. So she turns and walks quickly away. No running; running makes you relax your mind and she can't have that. She needs focus to keep this up. It takes focus to hold everything together.

No looking back to see if anyone is chasing after her. She wishes to hear familiar footsteps—No, no, no. No she doesn't.

Almost there. Almost at the front door.

Suddenly, in the hallway hollow with the loneliness of buzzing, luminescent lights and square tiles, she is struck with a wave of fatigue. Her legs fail her. Ah, she knows this feeling. This happens more and more nowadays.

She does not call for help. Instead, she relinquishes control of her vision to dizziness. The gray hues of the hall disappear from the edges. She starts seeing things—beautiful images; painful images.

Toushiro-kun with his friends. Toushiro-kun with Karin. Toushiro-kun with his grandmother.

Toushiro. Toushiro. Toushiro.

There is no room for a ghost by his side. There is no room for her.

No. No need for this squeezing feeling in her chest.

All is well. All is well. All is well.

It is a nice dream, for she likes his unburdened smile. As long as she can keep watching him like this, she can smile too. Even if it's from miles away. Worlds away. For she likes how his expression seems composed and cool at first glance but turns warm upon longer stares. It reminds her of a house during Christmastime with golden firelight that warms you up behind snow frosted windows.

She recalls the couple she saw on Valentine's day years ago and recalls how eagerly she wanted to experience the beautiful world she glimpsed. It seemed as if it was a place more foreign than any country, and she wondered once what sort of transportation—besides sweet dreams—would take her there.

Now she is here. The place she has always dreamed of being. She is at its truest core. She imagined it to be so sweet, so bright, so weightless.

She never imagined it to be this painful.

* * *

**A/N: June...June...the best part about June is that school is out. Oh, and the summer solstice-that's nice too. **

**Happy quasi-birthday to Momo! **

**And as always, please review! **


	7. July

**July**

_My first lantern was pink. The light that shone through the paper had a warm peach tint while the light that shone through the eyelets showered little orange flowers that danced wherever I walked. _

_I lost my first lantern._

_With my baggie that sagged with water and a little goldfish swimming in confusion in one hand, I pointed wordlessly at the sky with my other hand, astonished. I had been in the world long enough to know that most things fell. But that night I learned that lanterns do the opposite. They float._

_By the time my mother found me and asked where my lantern was, I couldn't find it in the sky anymore. It scared me, how the moment that was just within my reach and just within my sight could be so brief._

_But such is the case with all beautiful things, right? _

* * *

This is all he has left.

Her name carved in this stone that feels as cold as his insides. The date. The epitaph that looks foreign even though he is its author. He didn't put much thought into it, because he figured no matter what he wrote, the words would never fully embody her. They would never tell a stranger how she wiped the dirt and tears off his cheeks when he first fell off the swings. Or how she clapped in pride when he pedaled his two-wheeled bike with blue streamers all on his own. Or how she raised her head and asked him how his day was when he walked in the room.

Oh God. What if he forgets?

He finds it stupid how the gravestone keeps track of all the things he doesn't care for. He will never get to go enjoy the cherry blossoms with her on her birthday again. He doesn't want to remember the day she left. His grandmother was never that name on the gravestone to him. It was the little things he wanted to keep.

He lays the rose at the foot of the gravestone. A tiny bit of the red reflects off the smooth marble, along with his black shoes that match his black suit.

This flower will wilt and disappear too. Just like all the others that people left by his grandmother's faded photograph, which was only noticeable because it was framed, at the funeral. Eventually, everyone left and he knows that they will step out of their clothes of mourning. Even he will have to leave this cemetery, eventually.

Tomorrow will come. And after that more tomorrows. Pretty soon, all the days he could hold his grandmother in his eyes will be blurs, only able to be slightly sharpened by pictures.

He should have spent more time with her. What was he doing? That's right, he remembers. That money. All those times he could've spent solidifying his memories of his grandmother were wasted on trying to earn the money for the surgery that never worked in the end. The shortsightedness on his behalf is almost tragically comical that he wants to laugh. He actually thought he could prevent the day when the agony of losing would come.

What if he forgets this pain too?

Tilting his head up to the bright, blue sky, he realizes the dreadful insignificance of everything.

It's not even raining on such a sad day.

* * *

"A-ano...Hitsugaya-sempai...can we have one of your buttons?!"

"He doesn't have any left, so you can have the honor of getting one from none other than the wonderful me!" Renji grins and places one of his uniform buttons in the one of the younger girl's hand before she can object.

"I'm sorry." The silver-haired high school graduate gives them a subdued smile.

Apparently this is enough of a remembrance. They squeal and shyly walk-skip away whispering.

"Ne, ne, don't you think Hitsugaya-sempai's been especially wonderful lately?"

"That's because he's single now again!"

"Oh right! That's right, he was dating...eto...who again?"

"I don't remember. But don't you think his smile is so nice?"

"Mhhm! It's that mysterious smile of his!"

It is not very skilled, quiet gossiping and Yuzu catches this easy. She thoughtfully points out, "It's true...Hitsugaya-kun has been smiling a lot more recently."

Ignoring his red-haired friend who is nagging him to find girls to give his buttons to, Kira smiles and replies to his twin-tailed friend, "It must be the charm of a Tokyo prelaw student affecting him already."

Karin eyes her button-less friend. Ever since she saw him stone-speechless at the funeral, she has felt an odd atmosphere around him. It is not a bad one. She hates to admit it, only because it makes her heart jump a bit, but his smile is nice. It gives him the air of sophistication and remote kindness. But it is not the guy she has teased and she feels almost careful around him.

"Really? I think it's creepy." She finally says.

They reach the entrance gate framed by foliage of green leaved trees and their tessellation of shadows. Renji stretches his arms over his head, "Where are we going to celebrate?! I vote the beach!"

"Sorry. I can't go." Histugaya apologizes.

"What? Don't tell me it's work! They've got to cut you some slack!" Renji protests.

"Sorry." He gives a modest smile and walks off.

Karin finds it hard to talk to the person who is Hitsugaya but not Hitsugaya. There is something weird about him. Before he turns, she realizes something.

He still has the second button of his shirt on.

* * *

The diploma in his hand is the same as the acceptance letter to the University of Tokyo he received earlier in the month. He has no one to show both of them to. The memories of high school will be hard to recall soon enough. He can't even remember why he wanted to go into law.

Everything fades eventually.

He remembers the number of steps it takes to get to the cemetery from the school. It is second nature now. Even though walking to the hospital was second nature only last month. What was the name of that hospital again?

He knows the surrounding headstones like he knows the nametags in the rooms next door in the hospital. He knows the tree three yards away whose shadow touches his grandmother's grave at around 4, like he knows the nurse that walks by the room every hour. People acclimate so easily.

But today there is something he doesn't know. Something new out of the hours he has spent sitting in the tranquil setting.

A plain girl. Brown hair. Brown eyes.

She stands where he usually does, with a finger gently raised to support a butterfly with creamy yellow wings. Turning around, their eyes meet.

"Did you know? They say that butterflies are souls of the deceased. They are supposed to come to help a loved one in a time of need." She smiles politely as if they are strangers who happened to have crossed paths. Yet they are undeniably linked by death.

An inexplicable fear rises in his throat. The simple sight of her instills a dull ache. He wants nothing to do with her. And so he turns and leaves without a word.

She watches him leave, thinking of how his stare reminded her of that of her mother's. She saw herself as ghost in his eyes; a curse that no one dares touches.

When he reaches his apartment, his forehead is damp with sweat. He slides down against the door. It is not even that hot. He was simply walking too fast.

Plain. Brown hair. brown eyes.

Images of her invade his vision. Her cheery smile. Her grateful smile the time he held her hand. Her peaceful smile when he was close enough to realize she was smiling in her sleep.

He tries to push them away, knowing that they are ethereal. He wants nothing to do with her. He wants nothing to do with that time they held that ugly bear that he actually found kind of nice. Nothing to do with that time she picked that petal of his head.

Stop now. It will all be gone. Gone. Withered like the dead flowers on gravestones. Reduced to nothing but meaningless words on an epitaph.

His head hurts as he is suddenly filled with an immense coldness. He always thought he liked winter. But this feeling seeped right through his bones and invaded the epicenter of his chest. It is a new cold. An incredibly dark, silent, empty cold.

He misses summer, the sun, the smiles, the warm brown...

For the first time, he shivers. Holding his head, he looks down.

The button closest to his heart is still there, untouched.

* * *

There is a trick to keeping the cold away.

At first he thought it was smiling. But that didn't work because it caused him to remember.

That is why he has four jobs. He doesn't know what he would do with the extra money. But he works and works and most importantly he doesn't think. He takes everything second by second; this gets him by. If he busies himself, there is no time to feel anything. No time to see that face.

He will go to hell for not visiting his grandmother anymore. But who knows if she is even there. Nobody knows if she can hear him from some beautiful place above. It could just be that people just disappear when they leave here.

So he spends time with things that aren't gossamer. He spends his time with solid, sure things to reverse everything back to when he felt safe, back before that New Years Eve...

"Hey." Karin calls out by the shrine entrance. She wears a simple, deep purple yukata with a scarlet obi sash. Noticing his outfit, she can't help but laugh a bit. "That's right, I forgot. You wear traditional stuff in the summer."

"Shut up. It's hot. What else am I supposed to wear?" He replies, tugging uncomfortably at his light gray yukata.

He observes her laugh. It's more of an alto voice. And her smile is a bit more modest and boyish in a way. But most of all, it is very much present. It makes him feel safer.

"Where's Yuzu?"

"What do you mean, she's here—

It is then that she notices that her devious twin sister has snuck off. Actually, she catches sight of her hiding behind a stall. The twin-tailed girl in a light blue yukata gives her two thumbs up and mouths almost too excitedly: "Fight!"

She sighs and leaves it at that. As they wander the stalls, she finds herself increasingly aware of how they are walking together—just the two of them. She wonders how the crowds of other people that pass by see them. Hitsugaya's behavior is almost back to normal. He gets irritated and smirks more. But she cannot help but feel that the expressions she loves are only shadows of what they once were.

There is a couple at the right corner of her eyesight, trying to catch a goldfish. Watching the girl struggle to pocket a splashing fish, Karin rationally thinks that it would be easier to catch the thing using both hands. But the girl's right hand holds the hand of whom she assumes to be her boyfriend. Hand holding, huh?

She remembers when first saw Hitsugaya and Hinamori Momo together. They were holding hands. It wasn't a full hearted grasp like the one she sees now. It was more of a timid linking of fingers, as if the two of them were unsure of the implications of their actions. She remembers how much it hurt seeing them and how much it hurt thinking about those linked fingers in the darkening sky after that. But right now, as she unconsciously stares at the Hitsugaya's left hand, she can't help but wonder if they held hands more than that one time she noticed them. Did they ever end up full-heartedly clasping hands, with fingers intertwined as if symbolizing their hearts? She wonders.

Yet she does not dare ask about her. She is afraid that hearing details about why Hinamori Momo rarely joined them anymore by the end of June. She is does not want to know how she will react to such an explanation. The last thing she wants is to lose control like she did before the cultural festival...

"What are you thinking?" He notices her thoughtful expression.

"Ack! Um...nothing! Hey, it's almost dark." She shakes away these meaningless thoughts: that is all in the past. She changes the subject and points at the red that lines the black horizon.

He finally notices the presence of paper lanterns strung across the shrine. Children run around holding bamboo sticks with decorative lanterns hanging at the top, marveling at the light they possess. In the day, with the sun shining through the flimsy, translucent colors, they were easy to overlook. But now, in the rich darkness of the evening, they brightly flaunt intricate details as proudly as their artists.

It's unusual for him to be picky, but he finds that he dislikes lanterns.

"Want to buy one?" He suggests anyway. After all, it is traditional for this festival.

She chooses a white lantern with bamboo ornaments. Dangling it at the tip of her bamboo stick, she tries to balance it on her leg and reach for her purse.

"Watch it."

She quickly reaches for the lantern before it slips from the stick and floats away. Instead of feeling the metal of the hook, she feels the warmer, softer touch at the tip of her fingers. A human touch.

"S-sorry!" She stammers.

Hitsugaya catches the lantern and secures it back on the bamboo. He calmly hands over a few yen to the vender. This is why he dislikes lanterns. Although they are admittedly aesthetically pleasing, they are light and quick to float away, dissipating into the night sky until you are unsure if you ever had a lantern at all.

"G-great, don't expect me to pay you back." She roughly says, trying to recover.

He gives her a side glance. "Fine. But I won't pay for the next lantern when you lose this one."

"What?! I could've got it! It was all your fault!"

"My fault? Who was the one who got it in the end?"

He smirks as she fumes, trying to think of a snarky comeback.

They reach the end of the line of stalls, in a remote, more forested area faintly lighted by the festivities farther away. Sitting at the end of the bridge, they dangle their feet over the water. Karin peers over one of the wooden bars and notices an orange-spotted koi fish wiggling about beneath the reflection of the toes. The water is still enough to see whiskered fish lounge about over pebbles. But upon leaning back a bit, the surface turns into a mirror, and the bridge and trees grow upside down in the image.

She is most aware of reflection of the boy and girl sitting on the bridge. There is only a little gap between their arms and an air of awkwardness. What does this remind her of? That's right, that time at the bonfire...

"The moon sure is bright, tonight isn't it?" She tries to make conversation

He notices how things tend to get quiet between them nowadays. The he recalls his arms around her waist as he tried averting his eyes from her face, which he knew glowed softly from the fire behind them because he ended up peeking anyway. And that time he woke up in his apartment left with a cold towel on his head and the scent of familiarity.

"Hey! Fireworks!" Karin points to the sky.

In the water reflection, a bud of fizzling red shoots into the star-dotted sky. He tilts his head up to watch a red-fringed-white flower bloom. It reminds him of one of the flowers someone showed him...poinsettias...he thinks she said. He ignores the thought. Right now is perfect, he does not need to think of the past.

The fireworks bloom and remind him of different flowers from the shop he used to go to. And that reminds him of being taught _hanakotoba _by that cheery smile... So instead he levels his head and watches Karin. Her dark eyes seem almost light gray from the bursts of light in the sky.

"These are even better than last year's, don't you think? Hey Hitsu—

She turns and notices his stare. Suddenly she can only feel the lights bursting above them. She can't see them. She can't hear them. The only thing reflected in her eyes is him, his face that is pale yet sun-weathered at the same time from outdoor soccer, his eyes that look like clear arctic lakes reflecting an aurora, his hair like wind-blown tundra.

He lets the mood in the atmosphere carry him and leans forward slightly. He doesn't quite understand, but he does. He notices how dark her eyelashes are.

"Hey...Hitsugaya..." She whispers and doesn't shy away. As the colors continue to shower the night, she can see his face approach closer...closer...with each explosion of dark then light, dark then light. It takes her breath away, and soon her words are gone.

He doesn't think and tilts his head slightly, lowering his eyelids.

Suddenly, Karin notices something in the corner of her eye.

"...A...butterfly?" She mumbles.

With its creamy yellow wings, the little butterfly carries itself freely in the sky. Its modest appearance is overshadowed, veiled, by the pitch darkness below and the flashy iridescence above. The way it gracefully flies makes it seem dreamlike. It rests on his forehead for only a second.

And he remembers.

"_Toushiro...tell me more about Hinamori-chan." His grandmother smiled one afternoon as the cherry blossoms fall outside the window. Soon, all the mellow pink would be freed from the trees and on the ground._

_The question took him aback and he looked away uncomfortably, "What about her?"_

_He heard her gently chide in a teasing manner, "I want to hear from you why you like her. She is quite a nice girl. So sweet—_

"_Hah, sweet?" He was just a bit red as he scoffed, "She seems quiet and sweet to you, but when she's with me..." _

_He stopped and wondered why he felt the need to say this. His grandmother chuckles, "Go on."_

"_Well...she talks too much, for one. And smiles too much. And she always seems happy even if there's nothing to be happy about. She's persistent. She makes everything too sweet in her baking..."_

_He wondered for a minute if these attributes seemed like qualities to anyone else. And then paused to think if they were really bad things. _

_He saw his grandmother trying to stifle a laugh. Suddenly he felt self-conscious, even if it was his grandmother. "What?"_

"_I'm just wondering why you stay with her so much, if you have so many complaints."_

_He thought to himself that they weren't really that much like complaints. But he didn't want to admit it and replied:_

"_Because she needs me."_

The haze in his vision burns away. He can hear the fireworks bursting in the sky clearly and they are incredibly loud.

"_Did you know? They say that butterflies are souls of the deceased. They are supposed to come to help a loved one in a time of need." _

With a boom, a white-centered, yellow firework nearly blinds the higher region of his vision. It is bright, so bright. As bright as the yellow daffodils that first popped up in front of that toy store, where they stared at that ugly bear. Their shoulders were touching that time.

A combination of small fireworks burst into the sky like hydrangeas, just as blue as the ones that dripped with rain that day he held that umbrella over her head, pretending it was a chore as he listened to her soft humming.

The stretch of fuchsia fire that proclaims its presence against the black soon after reminds him of the cherry blossoms. Or maybe the flush on her face when she lied on the bed with that smile that he wouldn't have been able to notice had he not leaned in to see her eyelashes like wings and feel her soft breath...

"Huh? Hitsugaya...what's wrong?"

What's wrong? He wonders. No, he does not wonder. He knows why his fingertips feel wet from touching his cheeks. These are his first tears in years. That's right, he never even cried after his grandmother died and yet here he is crying.

He accepts the pain and yet at the same time he feels this enormous relief that is worth crying for. All because he understands now.

"Sorry." He apologizes in a hushed tone, "I...I can't. I have to go."

Karin stares into those deep green-blue eyes filled with tears that can't seem to be stopped, tears that are filled with so much complexion and feeling. She realizes that she does not even have to ask because it is incredibly, painfully clear to her.

She fights back whatever emotion that is threatening to affect her countenance and smiles a friendly smile, a smile that she gives to a friend. "Well then what the hell are you waiting for? Go."

She watches his back grow smaller and smaller. Then he is gone, out of her reach. The reflection in the water shows only a girl with black hair. Her, and a light blue yukata growing larger and larger.

"Karin..."

There goes Yuzu, sounding all teary. Without turning around, Karin continues to stare at the mirror below while saying, "Hey, remember that time when the soccer team won the prefecture tournament?"

"Mhhm. I remember. You were crying Karin; Dad was so confused why you were so sad."

Something is in Karin's eye. It stings so she blinks. And a ripple shatters the still water directly underneath her.

"I was such an elementary school idiot. It was a silly reason, really. I wanted to score a goal so bad."

"Ah! I remember now. You were really close but then the ball hit the post and another girl kicked it in."

More ripples. Rings grow larger and larger before disappearing. Then they are replaced with another ripple. Then another. Another. They won't stop. Karin gives up and closes her eyes.

"Yeah. It was the only goal. And when the game was over and everyone cheered, the whole team lifted that girl up. And when I saw her with all those hands underneath her, I just...I just wanted to be the one who scored so bad, you know? I didn't even get it myself."

"Karin..." Yuzu sits next to her twin and holds her hand. As her sister keeps talking, her voice is getting higher in pitch. Pretty soon, she doesn't sound like the collected, calm Karin that explains to Yuzu the homework or tells their father he's an idiot. She sounds like a girl with a broken heart.

"And you know what the most frustrating thing about it was?" She can feel fat, warm drops of moisture roll down her cheeks. All she can do is roughly wipe them away.

Yuzu gently pulls her sister's head towards her so that it is resting on her shoulder. "What?"

Karin laughs and hiccups.

"We won and I was happy at the same time. And I couldn't even hate her for anything.

"I couldn't hate her."

* * *

Has he ever been able to run this fast?

The people, the stalls, the lanterns all blur together as his wooden _geta _claps against the uneven stone path and hits his heels. The sound of the fireworks still explodes in his ears.

"_Why do you stay with her so much...?"_

"_Because she needs me."_

It is almost laughable. He is such a damn idiot and he can feel a smirk on his face for realizing how dumb he is. The revelation makes his legs feel so much lighter.

His eyes dart, searching. Searching. No. Not here. Not there. Where else has he not checked yet?

"_Ne, Hitsugaya-kun...You know what I hate about fireworks?...They're so beautiful, yet they only last for a few seconds before they disappear." _

They are beautiful. They are colorful, they are bright, and they shine with more life than anything else he has ever known. And even if they disappear, he will love them. He will not hide from the fear of yearning them once he is in the dark again. He will treasure this light now.

Where is she?

He accidently collides shoulders with an older man and hurriedly apologizes before running off. Realizing that he has his phone on him, he takes it out. The name isn't on his contacts list anymore, but his fingers have already memorized the numbers.

One ring. Two rings. Three...Four...

"Hello?"

The voice brings him so many feelings that it is inexplicable.

"Ano...Hitsugaya-kun?"

"Hey..." He finally says, "where are you?"

"Huh? Why?"

He can hear the boom of fireworks in the background of her phone. Fireworks and nothing else but solitude. He realizes where he has to go, and he starts towards the forest path that elevates above the shrine.

"Just...don't hang up, okay?" He pushes away some brambles and ducks a branch as he climbs.

Hinamori stares at her phone. The screen reads a list of numbers because she deleted all of her contacts. Well, at least the only name she ever used often enough to consider a contact. But she has seen the numerical list so many times underneath that name that she knows who it is.

Oh, the fireworks just ended. Now it is purely silent. She breathes in the calm seclusion and stares at the lantern at the end of her bamboo stick. What a beautiful, modest light. It is more than enough for her. Just this single light.

The other end of the line hasn't hung up yet. She stares at the time increase on her cell phone screen. Does she hear forest-sounds rustling in the background? She gives a subdued smile. He really is too kind.

Putting the phone to her ear, she says: "Ne, Hitsugaya-kun."

Finally he reaches the clearing. There are small scratches on his arms that he ignores as he heads towards the hill. "Yeah?"

"I had a long time to think. And I realized something."

Half-way there. He asks, "And what's that?"

"All that time, I used to pretend that I didn't need anything. But I actually thought I needed people with me to make me happy." She softly smiles and looks at the light that illuminates a soft pink glow from the paper pattern. Then she remembers to brighten her voice.

"But after what you said to me that day, I started thinking. And then I realized that I was wrong. I really don't need people. I can be happy just knowing other people are happy without me."

_You idiot. _He thinks. He can see a dark shadow outlined by a rosy glow at the top of the hill. He catches his breath and finds himself walking at a faster pace.

No one is in front of her, yet she feels the need to smile even larger as she speaks louder. Maybe to convince whoever in her is whispering 'liar'. "So really, I don't need anyone at all. I just need myself."

She stops and wonders where he is now. She can't here the rustle of bushes anymore in the background. Looking farther out, she painfully hopes he is there among all the other golden lights at the shrine below.

Now she is only talking to herself.

"I'm much stronger now."

He hears her chirp over the phone, but it is faint because he is no longer paying attention. His concentration is fixated on the silhouette of a girl donning a yukata, turned away from him so that he can only make out the bow of her obi sash.

"I don't need anyone."

"I don't—

Finally, he wraps his arms around her.

The warmth of it all takes her aback. The strength of it all. The familiarity of it all. The embrace is so tight that she feels so alive and present. Her facade breaks and her mouth is agape. She does not dare turn back.

"H-Hitsugaya-kun?"

"Yeah?"

It is his voice. And his forearms she sees around her torso. The cell phone in one of his hands confirms it. She almost feels like crying. But she can't. Ah, he makes it so hard. She was almost there too...so close to proclaiming her strength. She can still do it.

She takes a breath and smiles. Her voice is too jittery.

"Wh-what are you doing? Didn't I tell you? You don't need to sympathize me."

"I'm not. Sympathizing you." The voice quietly replies.

Why is he making this so hard? And why is she so weak? She is almost frustrated. Scared of how tight he is holding her. She doesn't want to fool herself again. She tries smiling one last time.

"H-hey, let me go."

"No."

Why is he so persistent? Her face is turning red and she loses control of her expression. Her smile twists into frustration and she insists with more volume as to convince him, or maybe even herself. This insistence gives her the will to struggle, but he is too strong and steady.

"I don't need you anymore! I don't need you! I don't—

"I'm the one who needs you."

Scenes blur and she feels herself spun around by large, confident arms.

He presses his lips against hers.

Her eyes are open and she doesn't want to lose herself. She can still fight and be strong. She can...

But his hands holding her shoulders are so strong and make her feel so safe, safer than she has ever felt. And that small little petal, that bud, inside her is blossoming throughout her body into something beautiful that she can't help but stop and enjoy it.

So this is what it is like. It tastes faintly like watermelon.

She notices tiny yellows dotting the ground. First there is one. Then four. Soon the entire field is glowing a dreamy yellow. And the fireflies start dancing around them. Slowly, slowly. So slow that it's almost as if time stops.

She finally closes her eyes and allows herself to feel the lights around her. Little drops of warmth hovering around the two of them. Her hand loosens its grip on the bamboo and the lantern unhooks.

They accept the transience; the paper ornament floats freely from the hilltop into the stars as its shy rosy glow shrinks into nothingness, leaving no proof of its existence save the silhouette of a young couple underneath a miniature sky of fireflies.

* * *

**A/N: The floating lantern moment, I'll admit, is inspired by Disney's Tangled. The moment when Rapunzel and Flynn Rider are on the boat watching the floating lights is, in my mind, the epitome of a romantic moment (yes, I am such a child to define romance with Disney). **

**Shounen series like Bleach probably don't mention this, but I've caught on from shoujo manga that girls ask buttons from the school uniform of graduating guys that they admire. The second button is said to be the closest to the heart and reserved for the girl the guy likes.**

**Okay. I feel bad. I must admit that I had this chapter finished 2 weeks ago...I just forgot to upload last week (insert sheepish laugh here). Maybe it's just my reluctance to have this fic finish so fast...I realized that it's more than halfway done...wow. Anyways, reviews, please! They really do brighten my day **(((o(*▽*)o))) **we really do need some more japanese emoticons in life...so many more possibilities...**


	8. August

**August**

_I hated August as a child. The month has no festivals to dress up in pretty yukatas, eat yummy dishes, or light sparklers in the warm night. It is a boring lull after the peak of summer and students rush to finish the work they have procrastinated on, which is alright because there is nothing particularly special about August to be distracted with._

_But in these past years, I have decided that the days of August are like sand. Tiny grains of white vulnerable to disregard, yet when you place millions of them together they make a vast, magnificent beach. _

_Did you know that there are little things in August? Little things as sweet as the tiny pinches of sugar my mother would allow me to place on my tongue when she would still bake my birthday cakes and I would sneak into the kitchen to watch. For example, watermelons taste the best in August, the campfires seem to burn a more gorgeous red, and the cicada song is gentle enough to put you to sleep rather than keep you awake. _

_What if all of these little details were to disappear? Would people be too preoccupied in their cyclic lives to even notice that their absence? Have they even ever noticed that these things existed in the first place? Perhaps there is already too much in their lives for these small things. What college to go to, what job to apply to, what house to buy..._

_I will never have any of that, so I guess that is why I can make room for all these charming little nuances in life. The fluttering of eyelashes each morning to reassure that you are indeed living, the yawn that lets you know that there is a voice somewhere inside you and you can hear it, the scanning eyes that take in a world exuberant with pigmented variety—it is all precious to me._

_Living is so precious to me._

* * *

"Ah, look! Look, Hitsugaya-kun!"

"Mhhm." He props hand on his cheek and rests his elbows over his knees, watching her crouch on the sand. Sitting on the towel, he observes her excitement with slight amusement as she holds up a frisky hermit crab.

He has never liked beaches for their over exposure to sunlight and the heat. Sand feels too grainy and odd for him. But her enjoyment is enough for him to endure. Still, it's hot.

She frees the baby crab and watches it scuttle away, scrawny tan legs under a smooth pink shell. Hugging her knees, she peers back to her companion. The sea breeze has messed up his hair a bit as he aloofly smiles. She smiles widely back. He sure does hate hot weather.

He notices her stand up and walk towards him. Unlike most of the high school beach-goers they noticed on the train ride here, she was fully clothed in a light cotton dress. In the seaside wind, the bottom billows out, and her thin torso can't be made out. Her slender arms and legs give almost the appearance of an overgrown child, a kind of human-sized fairy. She never bothered bringing a bathing suit. He wonders if she just doesn't like ocean water. Not that it matters, he just likes her smile.

"Hi-tsu-ga-ya-kun!"

Her pale face pops into view and is close enough for him to notice tiny details, like the tiny strand of hair that has escaped the loose side bun and is dangling a little bit to the left of her eyes.

His eyes widen a bit in surprise and he backs up a bit, just in case his face is red. "What?"

She clasps her hands behind her back and grins, "Want ice cream?"

He wonders if it is a coincidence that he was just thinking about this the same time. "Sure."

"Ah...but it's almost dinner time...we'll spoil our appetite." She says as she looks up at the sky. It is still bright, but the sun is starting to head towards the horizon faster and faster with every passing day.

"Who cares." He casually replies.

She laughs. "Ne, Hitsugaya-kun. You're such a child."

He thinks of how much her laughter reminds him of bells. For some reason, he can't reply in the same, sarcastic retort he would with Karin. Instead, he can only turn his head away as he mutters in protest, "Oi..."

After making their orders, they walk down the boardwalk of the seaside village. They decide to sit atop the stonewall overlooking the beach view drenched in a creamy peach from the sky.

Sitting next to her, he notices the spiral-bound notebook she takes out of her satchel. As he watches her flip through to find a clean page, his eye catches glimpses of colors blurred in delicate lines. He thinks he saw one page filled with bursts of fireworks. One of cherry blossoms. Now, on a new page, he watches her scrutinize the shoreline and then nod with a determined smile.

"What's that?" He asks, his eyes watching her spindly fingers lightly grip the gray pencil.

Her eyes remain fixated on the scene and then close as if she is trying to soak in all the senses. Every crash of a wave, call of a gull. Every sea shell, every diamond scattered over the blue-reflecting-orange sea. The salty wind, the strawberry ice cream in her hand. Despite this, her hand still floats lithely over the paper. He tries to figure out how it leaves a feathery yet defined line on the paper. It is a peaceful, homely quiet between them as he continues to watch.

When she finishes the rough sketch and she holds it farther away to judge its quality. Finally she replies, "It's a sketchbook. I used to draw all the memories I wanted to keep. But I stopped after I found out I was dying because the book was meant to be a sort of secret weapon just in case I ever developed the courage to tell my parents I wanted to be an artist. Then I thought 'what's the point?'. But I started again recently. After all, I don't want my precious memories to disappear with me."

She takes out a wooden box of colored pencils and starts lining the soft yellows of the sky.

"Young lady, you're quite talented."

They both turn to see a middle aged man stroking his slightly graying beard as he peers over their shoulders to observe the half-colored sketch.

"Have you considered adding more purples to the rocks there?" He pleasantly points out.

Hitsugaya watches Hinamori nod and reply with a smile, "Yep! I was thinking about brushing in some reds too, so that it contrasts against the baby blue right here."

As they discuss the pencil strokes and pigments, Hitsugaya is almost amazed at how Hinamori seems at ease. This is the first time he has seen her talk so fluidly and naturally with another person other than his grandmother.

"Oh, excuse me, I never asked for your name, young lady."

She smiles brightly, the dark pink of the sky striking her cheeks. "Hinamori Momo!"

"Ah, Hinamori-san. How old are you?"

"I just turned eighteen."

The man's eyebrows lift as a sign of placid delight. He reaches into his breast-pocket and hands her a small card. "I'm a professor at Tokyo Zokei University. We're holding a gallery event there in about a month. I am convinced that if you submit some of your colored sketches and watercolors, you will be able to convince some of the admissions officers to admit you as a late student."

Histugaya looks at the girl sitting next to him. The red-orange pencil in her hand has stopped floating and her head is bent over the paper so that shadows hide her face.

He is about to speak for her when she lifts her head back up, tilts it, and smiles. "I'll think about it!"

The professor tips his hat and smiles politely, "Well then, please give me a call if you're interested."

She watches the man in the suit shrink as he walks farther along the boardwalk. Suddenly, she doesn't feel like finishing her picture anymore. Good thing it is time to go anyway. As they walk down the village road, she pensively looks at the ground.

"An art university, huh?" Hitsugaya awkwardly attempts to break the silence, "You...should try it. It's in Tokyo, right? I'll be close by. Not that it matters of course!" He adds on at the end.

"Mhhm! It sounds fun!" She looks up and grins.

A chance she has always wanted: to go where everyone else loves art as much as she does. Making friends who aspire to have their paintings and sculptures turned into masterpieces someday, some year, sometime in the future. Everything there will whisper _future, future_. And suddenly she hates how much she loves sketching and painting. No matter how much joy holding a brush or pencil brings her, she will never be able to love enough to overcome the want to live any more than she can.

She feels something strong and reassuring on her head and looks up. Those blue-green eyes may be glancing sideways, but she can tell the gesture is an attempt to hide the embarrassment and worry. Ah, he's getting better at looking through her. This isn't good. No good can come from bothering such a kind person like Hitsugaya. Keeping herself in check, she flashes the brightest smile she can:

"I'm excited!" She shakes her head away from his hand and skips off in front of him before he can catch her in the act. But the topic still tugs at something in her chest and she decides to change the subject before she gives herself away any more. Looking up at the sky, she says: "Ah! It sure is late, isn't it? I wonder what time it is!"

He watches her ramble from behind. She seems to be alright, but he cannot discard the worry. Yet he hesitates to interrupt her. From a distance he can hear the rumbling of a train approaching the railway crossing before them. The lights start flashing red in warning to pedestrians and the closable gates begin to level out. He watches the girl in front of him, expecting her to stop.

She does not.

The road looks clear to her. But the lights are flashing some sort of color and the gates are closing just a bit. But she does not understand. She cannot hear a thing. Everything is oddly silent. So silent that it is almost scary. Soon she can't see anything at all. All the buildings and clouds in the sky are twisting and turning into a giant mold.

"Oi!"

He reaches frantically over for her arm and holds her back.

The train rushes by inches away before them, leaving a strong gust of wind.

"What's wrong with you!? You could've died!" He roughly grabs her by the shoulders and searches her eyes, frightened by how barren they are. They seem so empty, and suddenly he is reminded of something and goes cold.

She can make out a blur. And maybe the outline of a mouth opening and closing. But no noise comes out. Had it not been for the grip, she would not be able to tell who or what it is. Oh, she knows this slipping feeling. She can't feel a thing in her body and her range of control recedes quickly into a tiny pinpoint where she can at least be sure that her heart is beating.

"Again, huh? Hey, Hitsugaya-kun why aren't you saying anything?"

She mumbles in confusion before her knees give in and she collapses. Watching her slip out of consciousness into nothing but a frail, limp body in his arms he almost is scared enough to push her away. Instead he holds her tightly, realizing how small and helpless she is without the huge cheery atmosphere to guard her. He realizes what he senses from her body and it terrifies him.

He is reminded of death.

* * *

"Delivery."

Karin turns from her desk to the voice of her older brother at the door of her bedroom. Suddenly, the air reeks of leftovers and miscellaneous items. She yells:

"It's _your _turn to take out the trash today!"

But with a devious grin he leaves before she can hunt him down. Karin grumbles as she drags the trash bag out the front door. The sky is a dark purple and the air has the feel of summer past its peak. She notices a figure approaching from the sidewalk.

"Hey." She calls out to her silver-haired friend.

"Hey." He replies remotely. She can tell he is troubled over something.

"What's up? Date gone bad?" She jokes. It would be lying if she claims it doesn't hurt a bit, but she is getting accustomed to it. She has no choice. In the first few days she felt angry, but she could find no outlet for the emotion, for every time the desire to fight seized her, she would remember that beautiful look in his eyes under the fireworks.

So she is satisfied with being a close confidant, someone he can rely on.

"It was alright." He curtly replies.

She notices how he seems almost spooked in a sense and knows he is lying. But she is not one of those nosy people who persistently harasses people for their business.

He lingers, as if he is unsure whether he should continue individually shouldering whatever weight is on his shoulders. She closes the lid of the trash can and waits. Perhaps he is just too deep in thought. Turning away, she determines that her close friend simply wants to be left in peace.

"Hey. What does it mean...if someone starts losing her sight and hearing sometimes?"

Karin gives a textbook-based reply without thinking, "Well, it generally means that the person's body is either fatigued or he-slash-she is losing control of their..." She trails of and stares at her friend's uneasy expression. Softly she asks, "This is about Hinamori, isn't it?"

The tense silence he replies her with is more than enough of a confirmation. Suddenly, she is hesitant to continue, but the look on his face—the strong desire to know—tells her that she has no choice.

So she speaks quietly, as if the truth could hurt less if delivered at a lower volume. "My father used to treat her but he had her transfer to another hospital so that she could get better care. It's a rare illness. And...there's a large chance that as time progresses, she might lose her ability to use certain senses."

"And I can't do anything, can I?" The shadow in front of her laughs. She can hear it in his throat—a sort of hopelessness mixed with the attempt to find humor as a last ditch attempt to fight off the urge to break down.

* * *

When she opened her eyes and saw the familiar ceiling, she could only find one explanation as to how she got home and was now lying on the leather sofa of her living room. But she had hoped her hypothesis was wrong.

Then Hitsugaya returned from one of his visits to Tokyo and told her he visited the professor from Zokei. At first she almost felt a bit angry at him for telling the professor that that she would submit artwork for the gallery event. She didn't want to paint anymore. She didn't want the feeling of wanting more.

But after noticing the worry in his eyes she realized that her hypothesis was true. Hitsugaya knew about her blackouts. And suddenly it seemed more real.

She really was dying.

So she stands, in the sunroom of her silent house, tilting her head at the canvas as she tries to decide which color on her palette to start with. Her expression is remotely wistful as she stares at her brush, swirling the tip in the yellow, orange, then white until it turns into a warm, fleshy peach. She can be stronger for Hitsugaya. She will overcome her fear in order to do what she loves.

When her paintbrush hovers over canvas, her head suddenly bursts with a dull pain. She shuts her eyes tight and the darkness is different from those of her typical blackouts. She can still hear the silence characteristic of her house.

Finally, she opens her eyes.

There is her canvas, white with light sketch lines. There is the tea set, all intricate in detail on the coffee table. There is the potted bamboo imported from China. Everything is in the right place. She looks at the colors on the palette in her hand.

She cannot help but feel as if something has been stolen from her.

* * *

"Ah, I'm sorry...ah, Hitsugaya-kun, was it? Hinamori-chan's portfolio..."

He stares at the large, thick folder that the professor slides to him from across the desk.

"Her sketching composition was truly impressive. However...the adjudicators did not understand the significance of the, well, ah...interesting choice of colors. I'm sorry. Please give Hinamori-chan my best regards. We would be pleased if she decides to apply again next year."

_Next year, huh? _He thinks as he stands in the crowded monorail typical of rush-hour evenings from Tokyo back to Karakura. He becomes bitterly aware of how time is taken for granted. All around him, he can hear busy people making plans-for tomorrow, the month after, the year after—as if the enjoyment of the future was a birthright to all. His fingers grip the edge of the folder tightly.

By the time the monorail reaches Karakura, the numbers have dwindled to just a few—some dozing off on the benches, others staring quietly out the window. He gets off and notices a plain, slender girl with her brown hair pleated into braids sitting outside of the station.

The way her dark eyes take in the evening glow scattered across the city as they pensively observe the passing people briskly walking forward in their busy lives create a distanced aura about her. It is almost as if she is peering from a window, dreaming from another vicinage far away from this scene. Maybe his tired eyes are playing tricks on him, but he swears he can see her turning translucent and his heart can't help but skip a beat in fear, causing a dull ache in his chest. He reaches out as an act of self-reassurance.

She feels a familiar hand on her head and tilts her head upwards to greet the person with a lighthearted smile. "Hitsugaya-kun!"

"Oi...you didn't have to wait here, you know."

"I know! But I was bored, so...hey, what's that?" She peers at the large folder tucked between his side and his left arm.

"Oh...this? It's..." He slowly holds it in both hands, "it's your artwork that you submitted inside. The people at the college..."

"Ah!" She looks into his eyes, which try to avoid her expression, and grins, "I got rejected, didn't I?"

The startled expression on his face tells her that she is right and she laughs. Although she feels the dull injury of pride in her chest, she is—in a way-almost relieved.

"Oi! It's not you! Those professors all wear glasses anyway and it's for a reason; they're all blind—

"Hitsugaya-kun, it's alright. I had fun doing it. Really. Thank you."

The smile of gratitude she gives him is not as buoyant as what he is accustomed to and he suddenly feels unarmed by its mellow honesty. But the innocent, exposing moment is fleeting, for she also is made aware of how uncomfortably warm her face becomes and jokingly laughs it away.

"Actually, it is no fair. I wanted to surprise you with the paintings at the gallery—

"Can I?" The timid, yet warm voice takes her aback. "I'd like to see them."

She hesitates for a moment and a small smile appears on her lips as she quietly replies, "Sure."

He fumbles slightly with the seal before sliding the thick watercolor canvases out. He stares, stunned by what is before him.

A young man standing, accompanying a girl lying in the snow—both only visible from the light of the fireworks in the winter sky.

The silhouette of the same two figures at twilight, their fingers shyly linked as the boy leads the girl from the swings of a park.

The young man leaning forward from behind a wheelchair to smile caringly at the elderly lady in the seat as soft petals gently rain.

They are so breathtakingly beautiful, so emotionally detailed. Yet he as if something is constricting his throat.

As the orange-yellow of the sky silently turns purple, she observes the boy sitting next to her as he holds the canvases in his lap and stares. There is still something curious about his hair and eyes that have puzzled her slightly these recent days, but she cannot exactly describe what it is that unsettles her. Right now, there is something else that makes her curious. As his eyes take in the paintbrushed scenes, she silently watches his countenance almost struggle to maintain composure. It is odd. Sometimes it seems as if he is incredibly happy. And then she changes her mind and decides he is sad. No, maybe he is angry.

"Ah...do you not like it?" She tries to break the silence.

"No...it, it's really good. It's really good."

The way he said it in that genuine, shaken tone—how can she reply to that?

Finally, he says in an undertone that seems choked with a feeling she cannot understand, "Can...can I keep this last one?"

She nods, still unsure of what has overtaken him.

After a long silence, he gets up. She wonders if he intentionally faced a direction where she cannot observe his face. "I'm hungry. You want ice cream?"

She watches the shadow walk across the street to the shop. From behind, she notices that there is a sort of weight her eyes cannot perceive bearing on his shoulders. It must be incredibly taxing, for he seems almost like a little boy—frustrated and lamenting over the inability to act.

She wonders why Hitsugaya seemed as if he was about to cry.

Gently, she lifts the last canvas he held. Ah, this one. This one is her favorite too. A high angle of a boy and girl with their eyes closed in surrender as their faces linger close to one another. They are almost one entity, in that embrace of determination yet timidity. The warm summer...the glow of the lightning bugs...the solitary lantern drifting into the summer sky...everything seems gracefully ephemeral.

"Wah! That's so pretty!" She turns to find a young boy no older than six peering over her shoulders, "Did you paint this, Onee-san?"

She smiles, "Yep!"

With large, examining eyes, the boy stares at the picture as he leans over the bench and his feet barely touch the ground. "Hmm...they're kissing." Then he innocently mentions, "But ne, Onee-chan, why is everything in weird colors? Fireflies aren't blue, you know."

She looks back at her lap and the shades carefully brushed in various strokes across the stretched fabric. She closes her eyes and allows a delicate smile of melancholy over her lips.

Now she understands.

When he returns with a small cup of ice cream in each hand, her head is lowered towards the painting. While the bright blue in the horizon is able to reach most of the surroundings, light is unable to touch her face. Instead, her expression is enshrouded in shadows.

"Oi," He hopes his voice is much more composed now, just as he practiced on his way back, "I'm back."

"Ne, Hitsugaya-kun. Tell me, is it strawberry ice cream?"

"Well, yeah. I know it's one of your favorites." He replies indignantly, relieved yet puzzled by this odd question and atmosphere.

She looks up and smiles. It is a smile that pierces his chest.

"Really? That's wonderful. Because, you know, even if you gave me your green tea ice cream, I wouldn't be able to tell until I taste it. I can't see it. I can't see the colors anymore. I know you have silver hair but I can't see it anymore. And I know you have eyes that remind me of cold ocean water but I can't prove it anymore. But you figured that out when you looked at my paintings, didn't you?"

The pain, the helplessness, the unfairness...the sheer and nearly infinitely complex emotions of it all churns inside of him. And he is unable to even speak properly as he whispers, "Hinamori..."

She stands up, walking past him in a forced, cheerful bounce that hurts to watch.

"Ne, Hitsugaya-kun. You, know the saying that art is the ability to express the world in a different perspective? Artists always say it's a God-given gift to see things differently."

The girl before him reached perhaps only up to his shoulders. The fabric of the dress she wears flows without restriction, her torso being too small to fill out the bodice. Her pixie-like arms and legs, her braids, paint the image of a middle school girl still pondering the mysteries of adulthood. She is small and aerial.

And she is much stronger than he will ever be.

For she looks at him, her eyes closed in the brightest, most cheerful smile he has ever seen that breaks something inside of him at the same time as she says:

"Isn't it great? I'm going to be a wonderful artist. God has given me the ability to see a world without colors."

* * *

Dribbling the soccer ball casually down the sidewalk of her neighborhood, a dirt-worn, harmlessly bruised Karin notices how cool the air gets once the sun disappears. The bright blue of twilight is almost gone, leaving nothing but an opulent dark blue to envelop the city. She suspects that she will have to come home earlier from soccer scrimmages at the park with the other graduated seniors trying to savor the remains of their high school lives.

She arrives at her house when she makes out a shadow of a young man sitting at the curb in front of the apartment complex next door.

"Hey, Hitsugaya!" She tucks the ball under an arm and jogs over.

It is only when she is a few feet away from him that she notices how his head hangs as if he is wilted from something incredibly trying. Suddenly, she is hesitant to approach this shadow.

"Karin." It is a voice that sounds tired, so tired.

"H-hey. What's up?" She tries smiling.

"Do you ever think...about God?"

Taken by surprise, she thinks about it for a moment before stiffly joking, "I sucked at World Religions, remember?"

"According to the Christians, He is supposed to watch over us and be all-benevolent. Yet her life is so unfair. Why is it so unfair?" He mutters as he stares at the ground.

This is no biology question. It is no anatomy question. It is out of her scope and she knows that no matter how much either she or her friend studies, both of them will never be able to understand. Even though she could touch him simply by reaching out her hand, he feels unimaginably far.

"She's colorblind now. He took away colors from her. Even though she loves paints. He did it anyway."

It is funny how people grow. This person in front of her used to be the boy that cried when she kicked a soccer ball in his face and could be appeased with candy. He was a high school student she could've confessed to. But over the course of a few months, he has grown so much—grown in a way that Karin will never be able to reach simply by eating right and sleeping like her father used to tell her to when she first noticed that he was taller. His appearance is the same, yet his expression gives him years that she does not even see in everyday middle aged people that commute in their safe, predictable lives.

It is as though he is traveling somewhere darker than this night for the sake of a small, yet beautiful star. She gets the sort of feeling that he is in the process of transcending something. But she gets the feeling that it is a terribly lonely journey, a journey painfully unbearable to the common majority. She is not nearly as brave or strong to join him, but she has already resolved to do whatever she can to lift even the tiniest speck of crushing grievance from his chest.

So she dares herself to reconcile him in this pitch black, even though she knows that summer will soon become autumn and then winter, and nights will increasingly chill.

"It's okay to cry once and a while."

She watches those shoulders shake slightly and that head lift. Finally she can make out those eyes, a deep blue-green searching farther than the rising moon—without sign of tears. The pale light striking his face reveals a weak smile as he forces a chuckle.

"I can't. She's the one who is suffering the most, but she just smiles for me.

How could I possibly cry when she hasn't even shed a tear yet?"

* * *

**A/N: HELLO ALL! I know, I know—it's been _weeks_. And I'm very very sorry! (****シ****_ _)****シ ****I bow to you all in apology. I've been incredibly busy. And I know that I typically upload on Saturday mornings...but unfortunately I have to take the dreaded SATs tomorrow. Which makes me****ヽ****(≧Д≦)****ノ****POed. But I have mostly spent my night studying by watching anime...(in defense, anime helps me in my essays because it gives me deeper insight into humanity to translate in my writing. Okay. That's just a BS excuse).**

**I'll keep my odd side notes short. So please please please review! **

**Oh right, kaomoji of this chapter: ヽ(#`Д´)ﾉ**

**That is the fit I will throw if none of you review (not that you will ever feel its wrath since actions cannot be physically translated through the 'net)**

**P.S. I did realize from one of the comments that I forgot to cite one of my inspirations. The last line is a derivative from a quote from Pandora Hearts; it is what Gil Nightray says when he is talking to Sharon about Oz after a...shocking incident (I can't really tell you guys the rest of the context without spoiling the story for those who haven't read it before). But yes, Pandora Hearts is one of my favorite manga!**


	9. September

**September**

_Today it rains leaves. I know that they should be gold and orange and yellow, but right now I can only tell that they are different shades. When I look up, I see maple leaves, oak leaves, birch leaves, all different shapes and sizes falling. _

_I used to help my father rake the leaves. It would be a happy afternoon of listening to crisp crunches and crackling—much like a friendly fire in the living room—beneath my bare toes. Giant piles of leaves made me the happiest. Being able to feel the cool, papery touch of the leaves scritch-scratch against my skin gave me such excitement. And when I popped my head out of the pile my father worked hard to rake, he would simply laugh at the girl with pieces of trees sticking haphazardly about her hair. And I would giggle with him, filled with the simple joy of tossing and stomping on leaves._

_My younger self never realized that the dawn of autumn means death. The wind that gets chillier huffs and puffs, snatching the leaves by their stems and away from the safe, nourishing branch—away from the leaves that they spent their lifetime growing among.. A leaf falls falls falls until it touch the harvest ground and something steps over it with quick crunch. Then it is all over._

_I marvel at something as insignificant as the leaf. It accepts its cycle and relinquishes itself in a quiet dignity. I remember how their color changes into that of a burning and passionate fire._

_Actually, in that case, perhaps autumn's firey iridescence is the leaf's tacit protest against nature's cruelty—a desperate cry of fury._

* * *

There is someone standing beside her and when she looks up he greets her eyes with a kind smile. It reminds her of the gentle fall of snow and the reassuring warmth of a seasonal fireside. How wonderful, she can see the blue-green of his eyes that remind her of the thoughtful depths of the ocean and the silvery ice-brushed tinge of his hair.

Looking down at the heat that pulses from her fingers, she notices that they are holding hands. His skin is cold at first touch then melts like the snow in the winter sun. His hold is as reassuring and safe as everyday walks to school under the bright blinding sky. Her heart beats _forever, forever, forever, forever, forever..._

Then everything loses pigment again. She looks at him and can only see dull grays and blacks. It is as if a dark cloud has enveloped everything around her in a damp, chilling grip.

The golden, safe feeling in her palm, where did it go? Their fingers are still intertwined but she can not feel a thing. No heat. No cold. Nothing. Neither a breeze nor the air. She cannot even feel numb. She feels nothing. Loneliness pricks at her skin.

She sees him smile comfortingly, his lips move but nothing comes out. That is when she realizes that she can not even hear silence. The air is dead and empty. She wants to tell him that she can't hear, but she possesses no voice for the outside world's ears. Suddenly she is frantic.

She tries yelling. Screaming. Crying. But no avail.

And then the edges of her black-and-white vision begin to crumble away, piece by piece of what little she has left. His hand, his shoulders, his eyes, all gone. All gone.

She plunges into a bottomless darkness, infinitely bounded by isolation. And when she wants to struggle and thrash to regain what she has lost she is horrified to realize that she is nothing at all.

* * *

It is an ear-shattering shriek that splits the shackles of her nightmare. Wide-eyed, she struggles to gather courage to raise her hands from the covers. The relief of seeing her fingers wiggle under her control is not sufficient enough to stop her furious trembling. Her bedroom is shifting into a lighter shade of gray starting from the side where her window is; a subtle heat breathes onto her thin shoulders and she knows it is dawn.

Biting her lips to silence the whimpering that escapes, she shivers from the terror that lingers in her chest—a phantom unaffected by daylight.

* * *

"Watch it."

A threatening undertone is only noticeable to the receiver of his warning as he blocks the older man before he collides into the slight girl. Nerve-wracked by the intensity of the young man's turquoise eyes, the man in the business suit quickly apologizes.

"Sorry! I honestly did not see her there. Excuse me."

Watching him hurry off to the next monorail line, Hitsugaya sighs in irritation at the crowded atmosphere of the station. Saturdays at the Karakura stop include shoulder-bumping, toe-stepping, flustered apologies, loud cell-phone conversations, and practically every annoyance of his crammed into one event.

"Oi...that's the fifth time already. Can't you yell at them in advance or anything?" He looks at the girl with her brown hair swooped in a low, slightly messy bun. Certainly with her thin stature, the large presence of a crowd seems to swallow her up. So he can't really blame her.

She replies with a distant silence. He gives her a side-glance, trying to make out what she is observing. But this time, she is not scrutinizing the industrious rush of daily lives with a faint fascination. Instead, her eyes seem to wander somewhere much farther to a place he cannot see.

He takes this uncharacteristic quietness as a sign of worry and says. "Hey, it won't be that bad. I already told the university that I would take Fridays off along with Saturdays and Sundays. So I'll be back every Friday."

Heaving another sigh, he tries to shake away the feeling of guilt. It has been occupying a niche in his mind since the close of August: the first of September, the day he has to move into his dorm at Tokyo. But there is nothing he can do. He cannot help the fact that he has to continue with his education for the wellbeing of his future—everyone else who wants to lead a decent life does it. It is what Hinamori would've done...would have.

Noticing the awkward distance between their arms, he reaches out and ruffles her hair. Immediately after meeting her gaze, he looks away in embarrassment. But when he peeks back over, he finally is received with a smile. Somehow it looks like a tired shadow of her typical smile and her animated tone seems forced.

"I'll be okay. Have tons of fun in Tokyo for me, alright?"

The toll of Hinamori's unsuccessful attempt at being accepted into Zokei was taking effect. He imagines how they could've found residential apartments close by and gone on the monorail to school. It could've been like high school. Instead, it has come to this. It is odd. A few months ago, he regarded Tokyo University with the aloofness of any obligation or duty.

Now he hesitates to leave.

Noticing the shadow of doubt cast over his countenance, she quickly perks up her voice and pushes a bit of energy through her body. She gently pushes his hand off her head as she says with a chirp, "It's so exciting. You're going to be one of those really grown up people, see the Tokyo Tower, and eat in all those bakeries that bake yummy cakes!"

"Tokyo A-line approaching. Tokyo A-line approaching. Please stand behind the yellow line..."

The drone of the announcement cuts her of from her cheery listing of activities. He pulls up the handle of his luggage, his fingers tapping against the hard plastic in discomfort. She clasps her hands behind her back and smiles. People pass—the shuffle of leather shoes, the urgent clack of heels-eager to head to the next destination of their lives while the couple stands still.

"Well," He stiffly says, "I'm off. I'll be back next week. So...yeah. See you."

"Mhhhm! Bye!" She replies.

He turns for a moment. Then he stops and pulls her softly to the side to a corner by the vending machines, where there is a brief respite from outside eyes. Leaning in, he quickly brushes his lips across hers. The second after he pulls away, he notices her mocha brown eyes large with surprise. Before she can say anything, he mutters through flushed cheeks:

"Right. Bye."

She watches his tall, slightly muscular figure in a white dress shirt and a dark blue tie walk into the sea of people in the monorail. His expression, regaining its characteristic coolness, disappears in a blur.

Unconsciously, she brings a finger gently to her lip, wondering why she cannot pull the corners of her mouth upwards. Wondering why the inside of her quakes in a fear that twists her heart.

* * *

It is black. Not even black—this darkness is much more desolate. Sometimes in the darkness of the night she can make out shadows. But this isn't night, this is something much deeper and more eternal. Here, it is too stygian for shadows to exist.

She is in the belly of a beast. The silent emptiness eats away her voice. Eats away her ability to feel. There is only her. Her and nothing else.

But when she tries to move, she realizes that there will soon be nothing at all.

The darkness will consume her too.

But it is a dream. It is just a dream. One of the variants she has been having every night lately. She anticipates the illusion to seize her every night she pulls on her nightgown, but can never accustom herself to the sheer fright. Since it first haunted her about a week ago, she has come to realize that familiarity will never be a shield against this hellish nightmare. Feeling her forehead that is hot and damp with sweat, her fingers shake just as fervently as the first night.

She is afraid to sleep.

A bright light interrupts the calm of the soothing dark. She squints her eyes and makes out the text on her cell phone screen.

HITSUGAYA TOUSHIRO.

It is the 22nd of the messages she has yet—if she even will—to respond to.

Gripping the cold surface of her cell phone until her knuckles turn an angry white, she is reminded of the other thing she is frightened of.

* * *

His deep, teal eyes stare blankly at the screen, as if trying to contemplate something. The college student with platinum blonde hair, straightened with the exactness of diligence, gazes at the student from Karakura that she has recently befriended. Toushiro Hitsugaya totes a plastic bag filled with sweet bread and a travel bag in one hand while he casually waits for the monorail. The expression on his face shows a kind of insecurity she has never seen on him in classes. But it shows up quite often in the mornings and evenings when they walk back to their residential areas; that is when he dutifully sends messages on his cell and waits for a reply. She wonders who the lucky person who gets to receive his texts is.

"Hitsugaya-kun! Aren't you going to get on?" She makes sure to swing her hair to one side while passing curiously by him. "We're going to be late."

"Oh, I'm not going to class today. I'm heading back home for the weekend." He aloofly responds.

"Eh~?" She is slightly disappointed. "Why?"

He smirks a bit as he continues to check his phone. "It's kind of complicated."

About fifteen minutes after the monorail to the university leaves, he gets on the line that goes in another direction. On his first trip back to Karakura since he left a little over a week ago (it took more time to get acclimated than he thought, so he couldn't return any earlier), he discovers that the ride back is much more peaceful. There are only a few other passengers in the train with him and all he can hear is the smooth, mechanical hum of fast movement. So it gives him time to think.

He takes out his phone again.

i'm heading back right now. where do you want to go today?

It is an unanswered message, among the several others he has sent over the span of the week. He is unsure about how to take this lack of response. This feeling of apprehension is foreign to him. Do these long-distance things fray this fast? Is it him? She has never been known to be angry. In fact, she has never shown anything but an eager smile and so this lack of communication puzzles him. Yet when he catches himself thinking about these sort of relationship problems, he feels almost foolish—isn't this the kind of trivial thing normal couples go through? Somehow he gets the feeling that he can't use one of those popular magazines to read past her actions (or lack of actions for that matter).

"Karakura. Karakura."

Stepping off the train, he looks up and notices a slight girl of medium height that no one else seems to be aware of as they pass by. He is almost surprised that she showed up—this is a bad thing, isn't it?

"Hey." He calls out; they stand face to face, a few feet apart.

"Hi." She replies.

Her smile is faint, everything about her seems ghostly translucent. It surprises him that she made it all the way to the station by herself. Perhaps it was the week's worth of time away from her, but she seems paler than ever, her skin a sickly alabaster. The creases under her eyes make him wonder if she has slept at all these past few days. He wants to ask her if something is wrong, but he realizes how far they stand from each other, as if each inch is actually a much more expansive distance condensed into a visible, beguiling length.

So instead they start off with some pleasantries as they walk along the sidewalk.

How are you? Good, good. The weather sure is nice today.

Her voice seems so far, as if she is cautious about keeping him at arms length—maybe farther.

Finally, trying to swallow his incomprehensible anger, he says, "You shouldn't have come. You look sick."

That, and she simply didn't seem to care. But that is just selfish of him, isn't it?

"I'm fine!" She replies, almost a bit too animatedly and quickly. She flexes her arms, "See? I'm healthy and fine! I'm really happy and great today! Really!"

Why does she seem so defensive, even with that grin?

She notices the skeptical expression on his face and tries to muster the energy she does not have. "Hitsu—

It's no good, she can't say his name—it's stuck in her throat, wadded with too many feelings she can't bear to face. So she gulps in down and tries again.

"You worry way too much! I'm fine! Ne~ Let's race to the cake shop over there! I want some strawberry shortcake!"

Before he can tell her that he's already bought some, she dashes off. The way her slender legs lightly land on the ground, she seems to have lost so much weight that he is convinced she is gliding. On second glance, her footing seems childishly clumsy...

It is pathetic, but her legs are tired even with the tiniest amount of steps. Her arms and face burn, as if all the outer force from which she borrowed her energy is now taking revenge on her body. And soon she feels herself floating away from the restrictions of tangibility...

"Oi! Oi! Hinamori! Momo! Momo!"

_Don't...don't call me by first name..._

She is too exhausted to even be sad, angry, scared. She lets herself fall into a dreamless darkness.

* * *

This ceiling is unfamiliar. And so is the mattress underneath her. Oh, no wait—it's a futon. She doesn't have any futons in her western-style house.

Her fingers touch a damp towel over her forehead and she is about to sit up to take in her surroundings when she hears a familiar voice say:

"Don't force yourself. You should lie down a bit more."

She can't get up anyway; even her back feels like a sort of flimsy rice paper. So she is reduced to being a rag doll before him, in what she determines is his apartment.

"You're such an idiot. You have a fever."

Looking upwards, she can catch strands of hair in the corner of her eyes. She imagines it to be a snowy-silver.

"Why didn't you just tell me? You could've just...replied to my texts."

"Oi, Momo—

No. Anything but her first name. Suddenly she feels a sort of passionate whirlpool in her stomach that makes her sick all over again.

"I-I lost it."

It is a simple response that takes him aback in its subtle sharpness. He tries one last time to close this gap. Taking out a key-ring ornamented with a cherry blossom charm and a lace butterfly cut, he holds it over her eyes.

"I...got it from Tokyo. I didn't know what you would like, but I knew you like pink—

He stops and curses himself.

She tries to smile. Why is it so difficult now? It is as if her face is fighting for its own control. It was a harmless comment, yet...

"Ne...Are you keeping up with all your classes? You shouldn't visit home so much. You're a law student now, so you need to focus on your studies."

No words come to mind in response. What is she trying to say?

"Hey, tell me, is Tokyo exciting? Do you get to visit a coffee shop everyday? See the lights every night?"

She imagines him, his serious eyes focused on her and her only as he kneels by her side. He radiates calm, reassuring warmth. All this is enough to fuel whatever has been lurking inside her. Now she can feel colors inside her; a sharp green, raging red, deep blue consuming her chest where her heart should be.

"Have you made any new friends? Do you tell them what classes you're going to take next semester? Do you get to talk about what you want to do in the future? Maybe you've met a really pretty city girl?—

"You're tired. I think I'll go out for a bit." He cuts her off in a low voice.

When he shuts the door behind him, he is unable to walk a few feet without slamming his dominant soccer foot into a lamp pole at the side of the street. Her questions echo in his head...that daintily cheerful voice chirping words as if they were casual acquaintances. He knows there is a blade underneath the innocent tone, but all he can focus on is how blithely detached she sounded.

It's been a little more than eight full months, perhaps more than twenty instances of hand-holding, a few kisses—and Hinamori Momo is still as much as a mystery as the girl in the snow he met under the New Years fireworks.

The cicadas are dormant tonight as he walks under the rising moon. After a walk to the park, he has calmed down and found the courage to return to his apartment. When he unlocks the doorknob with a click and quietly steps inside, he expects to hear the soft rhythmic breathing of sleep.

Instead, his hearing picks up a whimpering so hushed that it could be passed as the hum of various nighttime noises. But it is a sound so filled with fright and anguish that it could not pass his heart. He quietly walks to the doorway connecting the small kitchen to the living room.

There, glossed over in the moonlight that paints her as a ghost, sits a fragile girl who trembles as if she had just experienced the coldest of winters and stares at her shaking, slender fingers in monumental relief as if astonished at the simple privilege of breathing.

* * *

The image of the spirit-girl staring at her hands in overwhelming disbelief and gratefulness is one that haunts his eyes even three days later, as he takes the monorail at his second-day back at Tokyo University. The scene flashes in the morning glare of the train windows, and he does not bother to blink it—along with the wrenching in his chest it brings—away.

He wonders what sort of unimaginable, Cimmerian nightmare she must have had and the great amount of bravery she must have to burden it. Those wide, shaking eyes...fear of seeing whatever devils appeared in that illusion must have spooked her from sleep. He imagines the same girl fighting to escape her inner horrors every night, closing her eyes in a large empty house knowing what she has to fight, opening her eyes to the same nothingness.

It's unfair. Sleep is supposed to be respite from the harshness of the world. Yet for her, it is a prison of loneliness. He likens it to hell.

He checks his cell phone. It is 7 AM. Is she awake now? Checking her fingers to make sure she is still alive?

Why isn't he by her side?

"Hitsugaya-kun! Are you ready for your interview with the professor today?" The blonde college girl sneaks up and lightly taps his shoulder. She flashes him a flirtatious smile of a city girl.

Right. He isn't there because he has to be here. And here, he has a personal discussion with the professor in one of his law classes. The elderly man is his advisor who is supposed to guide him over taking different classes and activities suited to his goals.

When he arrives at the gates of the large, sophisticated buildings of the university, he enters the large door of one of the impressive halls. Up a flight of stairs and to his right is his advisor's office, which consists of a cosmopolitan desk in front of shelves of thick reads and a wall of framed certificates.

"Ah, Hitsugaya Toushiro-kun, how are you?"

"I'm well. How about you, sensei?"

It is a perfunctory response, just as the rest of his replies when they plunge into an "interesting" conversation about ethics and law. Proper and refined, just how a well-cultured student should converse. It is so incredibly detached.

Finally, the professor peers from the rim of his thick glasses and says, "Let's talk about you a bit more, Hitsugaya-kun. Clearly your presence here is very much justified through academia, but why are you so interested in law?"

Why? He doesn't know. Because it is a respectable job that any guardian would want for his or her child. It pays good money and will ensure him a stable life. He can buy a medium-sized apartment, start a family, retire. He will do the same mundane work from 9 to 5, take the monorail everyday carrying a briefcase, walk briskly in leather shoes like all those faceless adults he sees in suits that are too busy looking forward to stop. But he has no other choice because this one is so safe and constant.

Then he sees that girl with dark almond eyes with her huge smile as bright as the sun. He sees those fireworks. That butterfly. That lantern. Those fireflies.

And that is when he realizes how stupid he is once more. And that is when he replies with simplicity:

"I'm not."

"Excuse me?" The professor raises his eyebrows at this unusually candid answer.

"I'm not." He repeats and smirks at himself, "I don't belong here. There is somewhere else I need to be, and it's not here in this university, or even in Tokyo."

"Hitsugaya-kun, are you sure you don't want to think this through? It's not unusual for freshmen to discover their niches later and you truly are a great student..." The professor starts reassuringly.

"No. I'm sure. I'm sorry, I'm withdrawing my attendance here."

Behind his glasses, the scholar stares at this young man in a suit and tie who stands up and bows before him. When he looks up, the elderly man can see in his teal eyes a glow of youth yet a maturity that transcends years. So he lets him dash off towards whatever brought that light of understanding and peace into his irises.

"Eh~?! Hitsugaya-kun, where are you going?" He hears that blonde girl that he has rode the monorail with—what was her name?—to the university every morning.

"Back. To Karakura. I'm dropping out."

She gapes at this perfect image of a well-dressed young man. "Eh~?! Why?" She pouts, "I'm going to miss you so much!"

The guy she has always taken as remote and mature looks over his shoulder and gives her a boyish grin that still somehow makes her feel even younger than him at the same time—makes her feel as if she still has so much to learn—as he replies:

"You know, I have a girlfriend."

* * *

The moon is incredibly large today as it relieves her from the darkness as she strolls under a park path framed by shedding trees. Night time here in this small city is so tranquil—quiet enough that she can almost hear her own thoughts. Her eyes should be drooping with exhaustion, but she makes sure that they are wide; it is not a hard task, since she desperately wants to avoid falling under that curse called sleep.

It is such a gentle, caressing light that shines on her face that she imagines is silver, like his hair in a soft breeze. She wonders what he is doing, but then something twists inside her chest before she can even think of his name. This is why it is better this way: her wandering and habituation in the dark, his forward steps miles and miles away.

The ring of bells breaks the silence and she recognizes it as her ringtone for an incoming call. It is easy to guess who it is and so she smiles softly at this gesture of kindness, her face illuminated by the mechanical light of the screen, but does not answer

"Oi...You had your phone the whole time, didn't you?"

Shocked, she spins around and sees a boy standing a few feet away from her. Dark shadows of branches and leaves tattoo his body while the rest of him is illumed by pale light. His necktie is completely loosened and the bottom of his dress shirt peeks out of his pants. Despite this appearance of having wandered, searching for something, for hours, his eyes are completely calm. The way he holds his phone...the way both of them hold their phone in their hands, hold each other in their eyes...

Suddenly she is brought back to that firefly night when they let that lantern flicker off. They were both holding their phones that time too, weren't they? That feeling of having her throat congested with whatever emotions bubbling in her chest returns; and she can not bear it.

She smiles, even if it is difficult. She bites the inside of her lip to keep it from quivering. "W-why are you here?" As if it is a pleasant surprise.

He simply stares at her. She knows she can't see colors anymore, but she can sense a tranquil, ocean blue in those irises that wash right through her. The calm water of his eyes seems to envelop her, and she feels so exposed. So she turns her head away and fights to stand her ground yet her voice shakes.

"Sh-shouldn't you be in Tokyo? Why aren't you with your new friends? Why aren't you studying? Why aren't you out looking at the pretty city lights? Why—

"I dropped out."

Her eyes swiftly fall back on the figure in front of her. She remembers to giggle, because it is a good way to lighten the mood and make everything seem like a funny joke. This is what this is: a joke.

"Why? You're so smart and mature. You can go so far. You're going to graduate, become a really dependable lawyer...it'll be such a nice life—

"I don't want it." Oh, his eyes are like still water. "I don't want to be just another person who lives a safe life for the future. I want to live for now. I want to live for the present. I want to be with you."

He is serious, completely and utterly serious. And the genuineness scares her. She can not help but take a small step back, as if unbalanced.

"Y-you can't do that. You can't stay back here. Haven't you always wanted to live in Tokyo? "

"Do you want me to stay in Tokyo for me? Or is it for you?"

The question steals her cheery, naive voice away. It is a last ditch attempt to retain her demeanor as she looks down at the ground and replies, "E-eh? Wh-what do you mean? I don't understand."

But she does. And he knows. She can tell from his eyes that he knows. And she thinks how unfair he is when he asks:

"Why do you always smile so much?"

This boy in front of her used to be someone else who would pass by her, keeping his eyes on the horizon like all the others. But now his eyes are on her. Just her. And she can see the care and love he has for her; it's no use because she can not help but want to return those feelings. And that is when all the could-be's crash sorrow against her chest, when all the should-be's burn a fiery anger in her blood.

"Why do I smile so much?" She starts with a stiff smile that is a shell of her attempt to remain carefree.

"Why shouldn't I smile so much? Because when I smile, everything is still happy and fair. When I smile, there is nothing wrong. And when I smile, there is nothing wrong and nothing to be jealous about. There is no reason for me to feel envy when people say 'look at those roses! Aren't they a pretty red?' or 'I want to be a painter when I grow up'."

She clenches her fist. Something is taking over her body and she can't control her mouth. Everything is tumbling out of her, like a waterfall dammed by rocks far too long. And just like a waterfall that breaks through obstruction starting with a trickle, she feels herself becoming more destructive as her voice loses its lilt and turns into a sword with its blade glinting in the moonlight.

"When I smile, there is no reason to be sad. I can't be sad over the fact that no matter how much I want to stay here, stay with Toushiro-kun, nothing will happen and soon I won't be able to see him hear him touch him. And Toushiro-kun will eventually grow up and become old and forget me—and I can't even see that happen."

Any restrictions binding her chest are gone and there is nothing but a churning ocean of envy and anguish and fury. She is free to yell until her voice cracks from the heartbreak in her throat.

"And when I smile, then there is nothing to be angry about. I don't have to be angry that everyone else gets to live while I have to die. That there are tons of bad people in the world that still get second chances, but I don't. I didn't do anything wrong and I have to die! Is that fair?! Why?! Why?!"

To anyone else, the girl in standing in the brick path under the night sky might have appeared like a wild ghost. She is pale—even paler now drenched in the ivory moonbeams—and thin. She stands with her feet spread shoulder-width apart and her arms tight by her side. Her shoulder blades fall up and down rapidly from her huffed breathing. Her subconscious hair tearing during her rant caused her brown hair to be tousled into a messy bundle. Wide, almond eyes...fat tears streaking her flushed cheeks...

To him, she looks more tangibly beautiful than she ever has been. If he reaches out, he can feel her shaking body that crumples to the ground. Her sobs and hiccups are so real. And her eyes spilling tears that gleam in the light are no longer defensively reflective. They are not the eyes of an admirably cheerful girl. They are the eyes of a girl who, despite being marvelously strong, is still human and can no longer bear the weight of the world over her shoulders alone.

So he slowly walks over and kneels before her. Gently, as if handling a glass doll, he wraps his arms around her, feeling the movement of her frail back under the silk fabric. He brings her head to his shoulder, unbothered by the wetness from her face while she grips his shirt tightly, as if scared of letting go and plunging into darkness. Slowly, slowly, her grieving wails soften to whimpers and sniffles. He notices that she is still whispering:

"Why...why...why..."

That is when he realizes that at the top of her head where he rests his chin are a few drops clinging to her hair. Is it raining? He looks up and feels something warm well up in the corner of his eye and slide down his face. Oh, it's him. He's crying too.

They embrace each other in their respective heartaches, their intimacy a shield against nature's apathy as a September wind effortlessly snatches leaves from the haven of their branches and passively watches them drift to the ground.

* * *

**A/N: Hi guys! I know, I know, I've been slow on the updates compared to my rate of uploads in the summer—it looks like chapters will have to come once a month now (but look on the bright side: isn't it fitting? The chapters go by months anyway)**

**I have a somewhat legitimate excuse for the lateness though: In my defense, thanks to the hurricane I didn't have power for a week. Yes, it was a time of rolling around the floor in boredom...**

**Ah well. Nothing I can do about it but complain. Plus, it's over...for now at least... ****ヽ（・＿・；****)****ノ**

**Anyways, thank you for sticking with this and please review! **

**[´****・****ω****・****`] – This is some sort of bear...I think.**


	10. October

**October**

_There are so many things sweet and warm about October. _

_There is that pumpkin pie I liked to bake with my mother—she would make the crust and I would spread the thick, creamy orange mix into the pan._

_There are caramel apples that my sister would get at the fairs my father would take us to—she always took my share because although I liked the chewy, warm sugar, I never liked how it got stuck between my teeth._

_There is applesauce cake I still can make and I think I'll make this month for him, if he doesn't mind. I wish I could stay in this month of sweetness and coziness forever._

_But I know it will leave when the winds get colder and blow it all away, as if it is something too trivial to be constant—as if my protests mean nothing and I am unimportant as well._

_Why do all these things have to leave? _

* * *

"...oh, I tried listening to that piano music you gave me and I still don't understand how you like that stuff."

"Ahaha~ it's classical music...Toushiro-kun. I guess I'm used to it because I used to play..."

"It's probably more interesting when you get to play the music then."

"Did you ever learn how to play an instrument before...?..."

He hears a yawn from the phone and her voice drifts a like feather. Soon, there is no response and he softly says before hanging up,

"Night Momo."

Her first name almost comes out naturally now, ever since filed his resignation from Tokyo University and started calling her every night just to make sure she never has to fall asleep alone. Their conversations are trivial to the point he barely recalls what they talk about the next morning, but he hopes it casts away whatever she sees or doesn't see in those nightmares.

Lying on the ground, he stares up at the tiny cobweb between the blades of the ceiling fan. One of the light bulbs at the center flickers and dies out. He sighs, groaning a bit as he pushes himself up. The digital clock on the top of the dresser—one of the few pieces of furniture he owns besides a futon, television set, and other basics—reads 11:30, but he decides that the convenience store should be open.

It takes only a few minutes to purchase a set of new light bulbs. As he expected, very few people are out at this hour in this peaceful neighborhood. But he does cross paths with someone on his way back.

"Ah. Hitsugaya-kun, what are you doing up at this late hour?"

"Hinamori-san." He looks at the middle aged man in the business suit. More gray seems to have grown in his brown hair. The creases at the edge of his eyes give him more years.

"I thought you were studying at University of Tokyo."

"I dropped out." He curtly replies. For some reason, he can't help but feel angry at this man.

_To spend time your daughter, unlike you. _He keeps his thoughts to himself. It is not in his place to blame others.

"Is it the money? I can pay you in advance instead, you've done us a huge favor—

"No. It wasn't because of that." He wonders if this man ever tries talking to his daughter. Somehow he feels a surge of anger and coldly says, "If you have talked to your daughter in these past months, you would know that she already handed me the check."

"Oh."

Oh, he simply says, like it's a piece of trivia missed in a test. Does he know that his own daughter is now color-blind? Does he know that she wakes up with a tear-streaked face every night in that empty house?

With no other cordial things in mind to say, he gives a terse nod in goodbye. "Well. Good night, Hinamori-san."

"H-hold on, Hitsugaya-kun."

He turns back.

"I'll pay you for your troubles. You've done so much for me and my family—

He stares at this man who wears the sophistication of a successful professional. It is not a look of respect—it is contempt. This man may be one of the most esteemed lawyers in the city, but he cannot perform the job that should be of utmost importance: being a father.

"It's not a trouble. And it isn't for you."

* * *

Coolness tickles her skin and pulls her out of the darkness. She stretches, aware of how she can feel her covers against her legs and hear a yawn from her lips. Sitting up, she stares at her hands in her lap and then at the window. Although it lacks pigment, she can tell that it is sunlight that beams through the glass.

The darkness in her sleep is not as frightening anymore. As long as she clings onto that calm voice, she can convince herself that she is not alone. Then the black is no longer a void, it becomes more like a smothering blanket that eventually unwraps her.

Something soft is tucked by her side. She looks down and remembers the bear that she sleeps next to. From this angle, its dark eyes look blue and remind her of Toushiro. She closes her eyes and lets the warmth of a soft smile spread over her face. It is thanks to him that she is brave enough to sleep again. She likes how his voice sounds over the phone; safe. It is gentle with feelings of eternity and makes her sleepy like that Goodnight Moon story her mother used to read her.

There is something unusual about this house today. At first, she is puzzled and looks around her room for any anomalies. Then she realizes that she does not hear silence—rather, she hears something sizzling downstairs. When she lightly walks down the stairs, she is surprised to see a woman standing behind the stove making pancakes.

"Okaa-san."

The woman, who is about Hinamori's height but seems taller because of her healthy weight, turns and gives a flustered smile, "Good morning! Momo-chan!" She seems as if she is about to hug her daughter but something between them obstructs her.

"Good morning."

She should be happy, but for some reason the smile on her face seems insincere.

"I've decided to take a break from work, since I just finished a case. And it's been such a long time since we've spent time together, and I thought it would be really important to since..." She trails off

_Since I'm going to die soon? _Hinamori fills in the unfinished sentence that hangs between them like a dangerous bomb. A tiny person inside her wants to ask why her mother didn't realize this sooner. This is no good. She must be such a bad daughter to feel this threatening whisper inside her. Her mother has pushed aside her precious work to be with her. So she brightly smiles and digs into her pancakes.

She can feel her mother's eyes on her from across the table. She wonders how much of each emotion is in that expression. How much worry is there compared to guilt? How much guilt is there compared to love? Her grip on her fork tightens.

"H-how about we go apple picking? Doesn't that sound fun? Remember how you, your sister, and I used to go to that farm?"

She stares at her blankly.

Her mother gives her a hesitant smile and continues. "There was this one time when you were so stubborn about getting the apple on the highest branch and spent hours trying to get it. Remember? No? Or maybe we can make pumpkin pie? You used to love baking that with me..."

The confidence in her mother's voice recedes to a shaky plead. Her tired eyes make her feel selfish. But it isn't that she doesn't want to. She is confused.

Did she ever do that? Pick apples with her sister? Bake pumpkin pie with her mother?

She tries to grasp any faint recollection, but this only drives her to an invisible block in her mind. Nothing. She doesn't remember. A kind of panic takes root inside and she tries to yank it out like a weed with a wavering smile.

"Sorry Okaa-san. It's just, I have plans with a friend today."

She can see a shadow of relief from not having to deal with this awkwardness flit across her mother's face. "Oh. Right. Right...Have fun."

Pushing the chair in, Hinamori leaves the woman at the empty table with the unfinished pancakes. She twists the doorknob and pulls. Stairs leading down to the basement; wrong door. She walks a little farther down the hallway and tries the other door. Clothes on hangers; wrong.

"Momo-chan. The next door." Her mother stands and gives her daughter an aberrant expression.

"Right." She stares at her hand on the doorknob.

A nervous laugh escapes her lips-a defense against the sinking feeling in her stomach.

* * *

Seeing him stand at the top of the small hill of the road with a thumb casually in the pocket of his dark jeans is enough to wash away the doubt inside her. The smile comes naturally as her pace quickens.

He returns with a smile of his own. Recently, she has noticed that his expression has lost most of its shyness and is almost steady in a gentle way.

Catching how she peers up at him, he turns away, becoming self-aware in this serene quiet between them.

"What?"

She laughs a bit. Maybe he still is a bit shy, but there is definitely something tranquil about him that makes her feel even safer when she is by his side. "Nothing. Nothing."

He looks at this thin girl of medium height walking by his side, staring at the bare tree branches over them. Her long sleeved tunic billows out behind her even with the weakest of breezes and barely touches her body. "Oi...it might get cold later, are you sure you have enough to wear?"

"Toushiro-kun, you're only wearing a T-shirt!" She replies brightly with a giggle.

"Well, yeah. But I'm used to the cold."

He decides in his mind to buy a jacket after they get off the monorail and before they enter the traveling carnival. But he forgets when he sees how her eyes light up when they catch sight of the top of a Ferris wheel from the trees as they walk down a dirt path. She runs ahead of him until they reach the entrance gate, where she gazes in awe at the scene.

There is so much. Shrieks of laughter, cheerful circus music...so much sound. Caramel, cotton candy, popcorn...so many scents. Everything feels so alive to the extent that she is convinced she can feel the red, blue, green, yellow...she can sense the colors around her and they are incredibly beautiful.

There is something about how the merry-go-round colors reflect in her eyes that makes him smile. She can really be a child sometimes. But there is a dainty atmosphere veiling her that brings warmth to his face.

Her thin frame makes him hesitant to allow her on the rapid rides, and so they visit game stalls first. She notices something off about her surroundings after a while. Amid the crowd filled with light shadows of puffy cotton candy and translucent balloons, stands a young girl with eyes large as if scouring desperately for something precious. Her cheeks are tearstained and her dress would look cute if it isn't covered in dirt. Too preoccupied in their own fun, legs walk past her without stopping. She understands what that is like...

"Ne~ would you like a balloon?" She bends down to the girl's eye level and smiles amicably.

As if immensely relieved with human attention, the large tears well up in the girl's large eyes and she starts crying loudly.

Histugaya watches as Hinamori gently ties the balloon string to the girl's small, limp arm. The girl's sniffling stops and she pauses between rubbing her eyes with her balled fists to stare curiously at the smiling older girl.

"There. That way it won't fly away."

"Thank you." The girl musters a tiny, shy whisper.

"Ne, I'm Hinamori Momo, what's your name?"

"Yui."

"No last name?"

"Yui...can't remember. And Yui can't find her Ka-chan..." Tears form in her large brown eyes.

"Ah! Yui-chan, look at all those pretty horses on the merry-go-round! Want to go?"

For the remainder of the day, he has no choice but to be satisfied with indirectly holding Hinamori's hand, with a small girl in short pigtails acting as the link between them. The child—he guesses that she is no older than 6—warms up to them quickly, and so they spend time ensuring that she is distracted from her situation. He doesn't mind the loss of time alone. For some reason, he likes how the pastel lights of the carousel bring out a docile affection in her smile as she holds the child steady on the bobbing horse. He likes how her laugh seems mellower when she gently wipes pink cotton candy sugar of Yui's nose. He likes how she seems so dependable and present as she encourages the little girl from below as the swings rise. When he sees Hinamori like this, his heart skips a beat.

"What did they say?" Hinamori asks when he exits the glass doors of the police station. She sits on a bench outside of the building under the starry October sky with Yui's head in her lap. Eyes closed, body rising and falling peacefully, a thumb partway in her tiny mouth—it's almost as if the little girl belongs.

"We have the option of giving the station temporary custody of her until the mother shows up. Or we can take care of her for a few days. I pulled up some of my documents on their computers and they said it'd be okay as long as it's temporary."

He doesn't have to ask which choice she would prefer, all he has to do is look at her warm, dark coffee eyes, somehow wavering with a delicate light not from a lamppost or the slightly-clouded moon, but from an innate tenderness. A strong, baffling feeling wells up inside him—is it care, or perhaps something much more potent, like a desire for everlastingness? But it is a spell that is enough for him to know what he wants as well.

"So...I'll just have her stay in my apartment for a while..." He diffidently starts but trails off when he sees the way the moon lights up her gracious smile.

"Sorry. It didn't turn out to be much of a date, did it?"

Unsure of how to express his enjoyment, he looks away and mumbles, "Well, it's not like it was much of a bother."

"I had lots of fun today. It...was kind of like we were a family." She cheerily grins.

For a moment they stare at each in wonder of the meaning of their coinciding thoughts. Then, simultaneously, they turn away with flushed faces.

Almost a bit nervously, she laughs. "I said something embarrassing, didn't I?"

"No...it's just, I was thinking the same thing. My parents died when I was really young and all I had was my grandmother. So I never really knew what it was like to have two parents. But it's been a while, after my grandmother passing away and all, since I've felt like I have a family." He wonders, for the briefest second, what it would be like to live under the same roof as Hinamori and blushes.

"I'm sorry...about your grandmother passing away...I didn't know." She softly replies.

He quickly turns his head back at her, scanning her expression. It is genuine, completely genuine. Confused, he says, "You...you visited her grave. You knew, didn't you?"

He watches her eyes draw a blank and a spark of fear appear in her pupils. "E-eh? I-I never met your grandmother..."

"We celebrated her birthday together. Cherry-blossom watching, remember?" He calmly and slowly says, but worry starts to pound inside him.

There is a moment of silence before she shakily laughs. "Oh! Right! Your grandmother! I'm sorry...it's just, I'm a bit tired..."

He waits for a speck, a sign, of recognition to reappear in her eyes. It never does.

* * *

She sits on her bed in a long sleeved nightgown that used to fit her but is now a size too large, with the morning sun accompanied by chilly autumn air striking her pale skin. Her eyes are vacantly disconcerted as she contemplates her room.

This is what she finds herself doing every morning—grappling details with her mind like a blind person in the dark. With each day, she feels herself getting progressively lost upon waking up. It takes longer to realize where she is and where things are. This is her room. She is Hinamori Momo. Yesterday...

That's right. For the past three days, she has been visiting Yui-chan at Toushiro's apartment. They have taken her to the park for a picnic and gone pumpkin picking. She stays with Yui-chan until nighttime when the little girl falls asleep while she reads her a picture book. When she goes home, Toushiro calls her and eventually she falls asleep as well.

They talk about anything on the phone. Lately, she feels closer to him with Yui-chan by their side. But sometimes he scares her. Sometimes he starts talking about something as if Hinamori were with him, and she can not help but feel that he is talking about a stranger. Yet he sounds so honest and all she can do is blink with the phone pressed against her ear.

At first blink, maybe even the first ten blinks, she is not daunted—simply confused as if she is not at fault. Afterwards, the dread sinks in. She eventually gets this feeling of forgetting something terribly dear to her and mentally claws at her memory to regain whatever she feels as if she has lost in her heart. But she can't and sometimes when she fails she has this strong urge to cry.

She seems to have moments when she wants to curl into a ball in tears a lot more often these days, even though she gets the feeling that she used to be much more protective about openly crying before. Now is one of those moments, as she holds an unseemly gray bear before her. Everything about is disagreeable. Its tawdry fur that she can sense is colorlessly dull. It's lopsided arms—one overstuffed, one understuffed. Yet it feels like a part of her she can not afford to donate to charity like the rest of her old toys. This is more than a toy.

Whenever she has received a stuffed animal, she gives it a name. She knows that because she can still remember some of the names she has christened her old Christmas gifts. This one's name is—

Wait. She can't remember.

Trepidation and panic seeps in her blood. Remember. Remember. It starts with an 'M'. No, a 'T'. No. No. No no no no no.

Soon enough, she finds herself no longer demanding her body for recollection—she is reduced to praying for her memories. She tells herself that she is so silly, for she is hunched over and gripping at her hair as tears roll furiously down her cheeks without sign of stopping. But she can't stop being desperate to grasp an understanding about this ugly bear. It's important. It's terribly important.

And she doesn't even know why.

* * *

"Momo ne-chan! Momo ne-chan!" A little girl eagerly waves at a slender young woman of medium height and earth brown hair that approaches.

Hinamori cheerfully greets the pig-tailed child in a jean-dress. "Ohayo, Yui-chan." She then turns to the young man steadying the girl who sits on her shoulders. They exchange a shy smile.

"I get to see my Ka-chan today, ne Shiro-nii?" The child peers down at the top of the boy's silver hair.

"Yeah. You're going home today." He gives her a subtle smile.

After five days with the girl they found lost in the carnival, the police contacted him with the information that they located the mother. They arranged to meet the woman at a park in the morning. Although he has never been the type to get attached quickly, today he almost feels a twinge of sadness about having this child on his shoulders leave.

A young couple pushing a baby carriage pass by them on the sidewalk. As Hinamori tells Yui to be careful (the girl is trying to pluck leaves from the branches above him), he wonders if they could pass as a family as well. When people see them, do they think that he shares the same roof with Hinamori? He quickly casts the thought aside before it causes his face to grow red.

"Kaa-chan!"

When they reach the park, he kneels down to let the girl clumsily run over to her relieved mother and leap at her with open arms. As she strokes her daughter's hair in tremendous relief, the woman expresses her gratitude:

"Thank you so much. I don't know how I'll ever repay you—

"Shiro-nii and Momo ne-chan were really, really nice Kaa-chan! Can they come visit us some time?" Yui looks up at the older woman and then back at the couple.

"Yes. Yes. Of course! Maybe when New Years comes..."

He looks towards Hinamori and sees her brown eyes seem to melt in wistfulness. She walks slowly over to the girl and kneels to her height. Tilting her head with a smile, she softly says:

"Ne, Yui-chan. I had lots of fun with you these past days."

"Me too! That's why you have to come play at my house at New Years! I can braid your hair too next time!" The girl innocently grins.

"Of course...Ne, Yui-chan. Can I have a hug?" She delicately asks.

He watches the little girl wrap her small arms around Hinamori, confused about the sad twinge she thinks she sees and hears from the older girl.

As they wave to the girl walking off with her mother into the distance, he gives a side-glance to Hinamori, who stands beside him. With brown eyes gazing distantly off into a land where things could have been, he knows that she is aware of it—the futility of being a mother with a child to read bedtime stories to, bandage after a fall off a bike, cry proudly about on the first day of school.

He is not the one dying, yet he feels this same feeling of loss as they walk silently down the streets, unwilling to leave one another.

"Momo-chan!"

The unfamiliar voice calling out her name makes him turn. An older woman carrying a box that he recognizes as one from a local cake shop walks up to them. She is about the same height as Hinamori but seems more fit and sturdy. Her hair, pulled back in a bun, is a recognizable brown, although he can tell that she dyes it occasionally. He notices the similarities and understands who this person is.

"Momo-chan! Look! I bought cake! Your favorite too! Oh, is this a friend! Pleased to meet you..."

As she exchanges introductions with him, he is somehow irked by this woman's behavior. He correctly assumes that she is Hinamori's mother, and the fact that she is one of Hinamori's parents taints his impression of her. Their absence at home has been starkly apparent to him every time he visits. He wonders what makes this woman so enthusiastic right now, and so late too. From the corner of his eye, he notices Hinamori's troubled expression. Her lip trembles and her head tilts downwards in confusion.

"...how about we all eat the cake together! Doesn't that sound fun, Momo-chan?"

"W-who are you?"

The forced, cheerful face recedes into a daunted, nervous smile. "Momo-chan...this, this is a joke, right?"

"No. I don't know you. Why do you pretend that you know me? Who are you?"

As if seized by panic, the woman reaches for Hinamori's arm. "Don't tell me... are you angry with me? Please don't be angry at your Okaa-san. I'm trying, you know. So, so hard. So stop this—

"I don't know you!" Hinamori yanks her arm away and yells. "How can you be my mother if I don't even remember you?!"

Before he can stop her, she dashes off and is swallowed by the crowd. The shock seems to break the woman, for her knees give in and she collapses, staring down at the sidewalk ground.

"S-she really doesn't remember...Oh God, she doesn't remember her own mother...Oh God...God..."

He looks down at this woman who begins weeping in her hands. Maybe it is insensitive, but he can not feel much pity for her. In fact, he almost disdains her for being so selfishly absorbed in her own sorrow and tribulations, for being too weak to support her daughter—who, as the victim, clearly suffers more than the passive bystander. Was she so concerned about redeeming her guilt for leaving her daughter alone for so long, that she did not hear the tumultuous confusion in her voice?

Without saying a word to this despicably fragile woman, he leaves to find Hinamori, trying to grasp what is happening. Then Karin's voice sneaks into his ears.

"_...there's a large chance that as time progresses, she might lose her ability to use certain senses."_

He will run and never be out of breath until he finds her; what ever god in the sky that cast this curse on her has no right to stop him. He will curse that being in the sky however much he wants without care because it is what it deserves. And it can strike him with lightning and he won't care or be surprised because now he knows—now he knows that life is so tremendously unfair and cruel.

When he finally finds her, she is in front of his apartment, a shadow stretching far in front of her and more omnipresent than its owner who sits at the curb in a mist of loss.

"Hey." He calmly gets her attention, standing casually a few feet away from her.

Grasping something familiar in her ears, she looks up and smiles gratefully, "Hitsugaya-kun."

He wordlessly lets her inside his apartment and boils some water. Occasionally, he peers over to the living room at the thin girl hugging her knees on the ground, wondering her choice in calling him by last name. But as he carries the glass over, he is cautious not to give her a searching look. The air around her feels like glass, ready to shatter at the slightest tap.

"Ne, Hitsugaya-kun. That's a pretty painting. Did you paint that?"

He looks at the framed artwork on the wall she is admiringly gazes at. A couple in each other's embrace under the July night, close bodies lit by fireflies. The color choice evokes questions in most, but it sings a beautiful lullaby of evanescence and infiniteness at the same time for him. She has been strong, so incredibly strong. Now it is his turn.

"No...I didn't. My...my girlfriend did. She's really talented."

She curiously tilts her head. Her eyes are wide, observant, and so innocent that he prays that the next time he opens his mouth to speak, his calm voice doesn't fail him. For everything inside him screams in heart-wrenching grief.

"Ne, what is she like? Your girlfriend."

She wonders why he exhales a shuddery breath before replying with a subtle smile that seems to contain invisible tears:

"She's kind, beautiful, and really, really strong. She's incredibly important to me. And...I love her very much."

* * *

She is supposed to meet her friend Hitsugaya today and she will probably be late but today when she got up this morning, a sharp pang was stuck in her chest. More accurately, there felt like there was nothing there at all, which is wrong because she knows that there was something—so many precious, beautiful things—there before. She hates herself for losing whatever was so important enough to make her shed tears without understanding the reason.

There must be a way to remember.

She yanks open her drawers and ravages through them, throwing everything she finds on the ground. By the time she has found every puzzle piece to her life she possibly can, there are clothes, stuffed animals, books splayed around her as if a tsunami madly tore the room apart. But most importantly, there are frantically opened journals, thrown paint canvases, scattered photos forming a close circle around her fragile body.

When he enters the room, worried over the fact she never showed up at their meeting place, he finds the area razed by a storm of frightening desperation. In the eye of the frenzied torrent is a thin girl that sits in the center, made even smaller by her shoulders sloped in dire defeat.

"Ne, Toushiro-kun." He hears a bare whisper.

"I'm here."

"My journals...they tell me a lot, but...but I just want to make sure. Can you tell me...what color are you're eyes?"

"Blue-green."

"And your hair?"

"Whitish-silver."

A painful silence befalls them both.

"Ne, Toushiro-kun...that painting I asked about the other day...that couple...that was us wasn't it?"

For a moment he looks up at her and feels a surge of hope. But then he realizes from her back that she is shaking uncontrollably as she says in a voice laden with heavy tears:

"I read about all these things we've done in my journals. I looked at all the photos and drawings and paintings. But no matter what I do, it still feels like I'm reading someone else's story.

"Ne, what do I do Toushiro-kun? I can't remember anything at all."

* * *

**A/N: How many apologies do I owe all of you for my tardiness?**

**I'M SORRY x 1000. So sorry that I actually uploaded on a Tuesday. I felt this sudden guilt for having the draft sit there so long and decided to pull the doc back up and edit. **

**On another note, I _just _realized this when I finished drafting...Yui is the name of that AI girl in Sword Art Online that Kirito and Asuna adopt, isn't it? I promise you I did not even think about SAO while I wrote that part about the little girl. I actually chose the name because I was looking at a list of Bleach characters and apparently Yui is a brown haired, brown eyed girl that shows up in a filler episode (I don't watch the anime, so who knows, Bleach wiki could just be trolling me), so I went with it. **

**In fact, I credit the "family" moment and all to Clannad After Story—that series has made me want to include a cute story about family ever since. Those of you who love romance and tragedy should watch it, it's a beautiful anime. **

**Despite how much I suck at uploading frequently nowadays, can I still ask for reviews? *insert sheepish laugh here***


	11. November

**November**

_If every month has a color, then November is a dark, dark gray. _

_With all the autumn leaves dried up and stomped upon, colorless pieces are frittered over the freezing ground that is also dull from the merciless wind that sucks life away. Tree branches droop in despair, weighted down from the absence of green and vitality that once gave them purpose. Ominous clouds that only threaten to drench the earth with their sorrowful rain hover about too often. Only a few straggling people wander outside due to obligations. And so by nightfall, every thing is empty; barren; despondent._

_I used to hate November; I still do. But my hatred stems from a different reason this year. A reason that I might have found curious and would not have understood perhaps only months ago._

_You see, November is not dark enough._

_It is not dark enough. Without leaves, the branches can not shield the world below from occasional sun light. The clouds are not nearly viscous enough and allot tiny spaces for blinding blue sky to peek out. It may be drab and gloomy. But gray is not black._

_I am colorblind, so I know this._

_I know that you can still see in gray. You can make out different shades. You can make out outlines. Which means that when I look in glass, I can still see that skeletal girl with sickening pale skin stretched across a hollow body. If she were a ghost, perhaps I could use one of the spells witches used in fairytales to cast her away._

_But this hideous thing is me._

_And so my only cure—the only cure that November cannot provide me—is blackness. _

* * *

The alarm clock reads a mechanical 4:00 AM and the sky is still dark; even her mother isn't up yet, but the lamp on her nightstand is lit. She does this every morning now—sits up in her bed and reads a notebook filled with her handwriting—just as she makes sure to record every event of the day late at night. The journal contains everything she should remember about the time she has spent with Toushiro; accounts that he spent more than two days telling her about as she diligently wrote it into narrative. There are other things that she knows she forgets about a lot—her family, her school memories—but she has come to accept that there are things she has to let go. She only needs one aspect of her life to cling onto for sanity, and that one thing is Toushiro—Toushiro, who is patient as quiet snow and safe as a protective forest of pine trees.

There are still times when she feels as if she is reading another person's diary. The guilt that comes along with this feeling is inevitable. Sometimes, she can't help but think herself an imposter when Toushiro holds her hand or pecks her on the cheek. Her name is Hinamori Momo. So was the girl in this body months before. But right now, she feels as if she does not deserve the name. Hinamori Momo was a girl so brave that she could find a bright smile at any time; she is a weak girl who feels like crying too much out of fear and sadness.

She knows that Hinamori Momo never had nightmares like she does. She never relies on Toushiro too much to have him call every night. And she never had to be scared that at any moment, her body might disobey her and wither all together.

Sometimes she feels like her legs do that. When she stretches, she feels nothing in her legs. But then they eventually move and it is as if the few minutes before were just after-dreams; the brief immobility was a nightmare-within-a-nightmare.

She doesn't tell Toushiro this because she doesn't want him to worry.

Or maybe she doesn't tell him because she increasingly wishes that she could stay in her nightmare of emptiness forever, just to escape the shame.

* * *

Against the darkness of early morning, the bright scarlet that outlines the city breathes a glow around buildings, making them seem as if they are burning. Pressing his head to the cold window of the train, he notices how his breath leaves a small fog. Through the reflection, he can see the girl sleeping with her head on his shoulder. She is so light that the only thing reminding him of her closeness is her gentle warmth by his side.

They arrive at Nagano for their overnight trip at 8 AM, when the sun has just risen in the cool, autumn-shifting-into-winter air. As the employees of the _ryoukan_ they are staying in leads them to their room, he realizes that he never told her that they are staying in the same suite—he could only afford to book one with the money he has saved over these months through various odd jobs.

She doesn't seem to mind as she admires the traditional wood furnishings. When she walks into one of the rooms and realizes that there is only one bedroom, she stares for a moment.

"I-I can take the floor in the other room. It's fine." He offers quickly, realizing how this might appear to her.

She turns and gives a smile, which faintly has the same expression of warm discomfort he guesses he must have on his face. "A-ahaha, no it's fine. It's fine. It's normal isn't it? For couples?"

This is true. In the locker rooms before soccer practice, he would—unwillingly- hear stories about the guy's perspective of overnight trips with girlfriends. Just thinking about some of the things—well, mainly just one thing—that tends to happen during these things causes heat to flood into his face. So he tries to discard it from his mind.

As they go sight seeing, she can not help but wonder about her relationship with Toushiro. At the shrine, there are couples who hold each other close—as if whispering intimate secrets into each other's ears as they walk— much closer than simple intertwined fingers. While visiting a waterfall in the forest path, there is another couple that seems too absorbed in lip-lock, with the girl's arms passionately wrapped around the boy's neck. The air is chilly and the mist of the heavily cascading water makes the temperature against her skin passable for winter, but she feels prickles of warmth crawl up her neck.

Do all couples eventually end up like that? All inseparable in a melted and ardent energy? Imagining it makes her shift in underneath her clothing. But, as she glances at Toushiro—who is casually reading a sign by the railings—she thinks how unfair it is to him. And, that kind of eager tenderness is part of life; so shouldn't she try it sometime? She doesn't have much time left...

Something warm is glowing on her forehead. She peers up and sees the bottom of a Styrofoam cup. The smell of chocolate wafts into her nose. But what feels even sweeter is that expression in Toushiro's eyes. He holds the cup before her.

"Careful. It's hot."

He says it casually. No, that's not exactly how to put it. It is soft like a blanket of snow—the first snow of the winter; white and refreshingly clean. But it is casual at the same time and she has grown accustomed to it to the point where only a natural, calm blush kisses her cheeks.

"Thanks, Toushiro-kun." She sips her cup, allowing the warmth and sugar to spread from her tongue to the rest of her body. As he leans back against the railing, allowing her to sit on the edge of a bench, she sneaks a glance at him.

His eyes that she imagines to be a deep blue-green always make him seem as if he is farther away than his actual body. His hair is swept in a way so that is unkempt enough to suit his aloofness yet neat enough to show his sophistication. There is no doubt that he is attractive. But that is not what first comes to mind. The first thing that comes to mind is how strong he appears. He is tall and slightly muscular—not enough to be daunting, but enough to feel reassuringly safe when around him. Yet it is not these physical attributes that make her feel secure. It is something about his entire atmosphere; it is how he seems at determinedly at peace, gently stoic and fiercely protective all with one relaxed expression that makes her love him.

And if she loves him, then should these exchanges of gentle smiles and blissfully shy intimacies be more?

"What?" He catches her staring at him and is slightly disarmed by her expression that he can't decode.

Whoops. She forgot to only glance. Quickly, she throws on a large smile and says, "Nothing! Nothing! Ne, Toushiro-kun, can I try yours?"

He looks at his cup and stares at it for a moment before handing it to her. Tilting the cup towards her lips, the liquid barely reaches her tongue when something incredibly bitter shocks her. Staring at her face twisted in disgust, he can't help but laugh at her childishly puckered lips.

"It's black coffee." He smiles as he takes it back.

"Ew. Toushiro-kun, how could you like this stuff? I thought you like sweet things..." She wrenches her face, as if it can rid her of the bitter taste.

As she watches him shrug and laugh, she wonders if moments—of simply loving and feeling loved-like these are good enough for him. Good enough for her.

It is silly, but the more she tells herself to cast those thoughts away, the more urgent it feels. And suddenly, she is more cognizant of the fact that she doesn't have much longer. Yet there is so much still left to do. So, so much.

Preoccupation over the swarming thoughts in her mind leads her to forget how tired her body is. By the time they are halfway through the forest path back to town, her legs feel as if they have abruptly disappeared.

No, not now. Not now. Not with Toushiro with her.

But it's no use. Her body doesn't listen. Nothing ever listens and she has no choice but to accept this injustice as she crumples to the ground.

"O-oi! Momo!" He rushes over, adeptly jumping from rock to rock to her side.

"I-It's fine. I think I just slipped." She lies and tries to flash him a convincing smile as she uses her arms to push herself up. She needs to be strong to prove that she is worthy of being Hinamori Momo, the girl who was independent enough to earn the love of this boy next to her. But her arms are so frail that they shake furiously, and her legs...where are they? She can't feel them. But they are right there, right in front of her eyes—lying uselessly there, thin and pale.

_Move. Move. Move move move!_

It's no use. Her eyesight is being stolen from her too. She can feel herself being reduced to just her hearing while everything else in her body becomes foreign to her.

"Momo! Momo!"

Someone is calling for her, but she can't do anything but hear their anxious cries.

"Come on! Wake up! Open your eyes!"

It is not fair, how much unconditional this care in his voice feels. She can pick up a bit of anger in his tone, as if he is just as furious at whoever has stolen everything from her. But most of all, he is worried—oh so incredibly worried that he almost sounds desperate. She wishes she could raise a hand and touch his cheeks to tell him that it's alright, she's not dead yet, this sort of things just happen a lot now. No, wait—she doesn't want to tell him about this weakness. She does not want to admit defeat because then it is as if she does not deserve any of his concern. But now she has no choice because he already knows how little she is reduced to.

Trapped in this miserable and weak body, she is confined to this feeling of gut-wrenching shame that makes her want to tear her skin, then flesh, then bones away just to escape. With guilt and self-disgust constricting her throat, she wishes this heat boiling in her blood would just burn her into nothing as Toushiro carries her on his back.

* * *

The girl on his back is not heavy—in fact, carrying her feels no different than bearing a bag of feathers. But when he sets her down on the futon of their _ryoukan_ room, his arms are shaking violently. He collapses to his knees, as if exhausted from carrying something heavier than the world. When he looks up at the girl's slender body, she looks like some ivory figurine—a cold sculpture made by a detail-oriented artist. There's not even the slightest blush in her cheeks, and her chest isn't rising and falling as it should be. She is still...

_Shit!_

He quickly leans closer. Then breathes a sigh of relief. Another hallucination among the several that fooled his senses while he carried her back. They are day-mares, phantom illusions that haunt him under the sun without mercy.

When she passed out in the forest path, a frantic monster seized his chest. Usually he is able to take control of situations and calmly assess them. But this was different. He forgot to even check for her breath. All he kept thinking was: _no not now. Not now. Not now._

And he almost prayed.

Now, with her lying peacefully on the bed, relief passes over him—yet this relief is only slight because his breath still shudders in fear. Perhaps he will regain control of this emotion wracking him if he gets some fresh air.

Out on the balcony the air feels like winter as it blows against his skin. It slows the dangerous beating of his heart and he allows himself the luxury of not thinking. It is cold. Freezing. His mind wanders and leads him to the question if the cold will feel like this next year when he loses...

How long has he been out here? An hour? The numbing iciness is nice. He wants to forget. Maybe he'll stay here forever.

But eventually he turns away from the view of bare trees behind wooden railings and towards the sliding door. When he opens it, the first thing that comes to sight is Momo. She is sitting up and appears as if she has just awoken from a hushed dream.

Their eyes meet.

Suddenly, this sense of urgency pounds in his ears and he can feel it throb in every inch of his body. All this time, he knew things were going to end up like this—her terrifyingly frail body. He knew. Yet he was never truly prepared. And he needs to do something about it...he needs a shield from fate. Just something.

He slowly walks over to her and simply collapses in front of her, placing his head on her shoulder. It is thin—it feels like there is nothing there underneath the pale skin—but he stays there, silent.

She is confused by this behavior uncharacteristic of him. But something is rushing through her body too as she barely whispers, "Toushiro-kun...?"

He is not himself. He knows because he lifts his head and stares at her dark, almond eyes; he thinks how everything could disappear in seconds and then kisses the lips that he might never see smile again at a time that is lurking too soon. Maybe they are both suffocating, for he feels his lips pressed against hers for a long time, but he is too reluctant to let this warmth go. She is right next to him, so close to him, yet he is scared of her body slipping right through his nervous fingers.

Her heart is loud; it makes her feel so much more alive as her back gently touches the ground again and his arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, his lips now lightly against her neck. His back against her palms is so sturdy. Everything thing is melting. Her quick breaths, his heavy breaths, his arms, her arms...all melting, melting, melting.

This should be right. This should be right.

She feels his hands against the skin of her back, feels her hands underneath his shirt...trembling fingers working on her bra strap...

Her hands are on his chest now, outstretched to gently push him away. He is made aware of his surroundings again, as if a tiny drop of water hit his forehead in realization. He is kneeled over her body, his arms against the futon, his shadow cast over her face. Her face...tear streaked.

"I-I'm sorry." Her voice cracks even in the smallest of whispers.

Tear drops that remind him of tiny balls of crystal well up in her eyes and spill down her flushed cheeks. She does not bother wiping them away.

"I'm sorry. I can't. I...just can't."

Because right now, linked fingers in firefly lit nights and shy smiles under halcyon skies are enough. She loves eye-gazing with caressing warmth, words with gentle understanding, soft whiteness of their exchanges. She loves how being with him is an array of pretty pastels—a calm yet transcending cherishment. She loves the simplicity of it all. It is beautiful. It is right.

As he watches the tears roll to the bed sheet as a damp spot, he is relieved. Something is lifted off his shoulders. Because he is just the same. He does not care for fiery passion or overwhelming heat. He cares for her. Her and all her smiles—caring, innocent, bright, brave, all of her smiles. Her and her laughter like bells. Her and her humming under an umbrella spotted with showers. Her and her slender fingers that pick off the cherry blossoms from his head...this is what is enough and perfect.

"It's fine." His voice is hoarse at first but then warms up. He smiles at her, this girl he will infinitely love.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry." She repeats, and the tears come even more furiously at this dear kindness and understanding.

"It's fine." He reassures her again and holds her face between his hands. He draws closer as simple reassurance, realizing that he is crying as well, for there are moist drops on her face coming from his watery eyes.

They realize that they are the same—neither of them are ready. Perhaps it may have happened years later, years that they will never have. But what they have right now is blissfully sweet. Euphorically perfect. Even if it must be ephemeral.

And so they laugh in tearful joy and agony at this beautiful synchronicity as they hold each other close and feel each other's shaky breaths on their cheeks. Neither of them can explain why their hearts feel so torn. They shed grateful tears for the gifts that have been: the hand-holding under white clouds, laughs as light as the pin prick stars, subtle embraces during which time seems to quietly halt.

And then they shed tears for the same little gifts that will never be.

* * *

It has been the first time since she dreamed of soft and sweet things. She can still feel lingering traces of puffy winter clouds and refreshing cold mint when her eyes slowly open, adjusting to the dark. It is also the first time the covers completely warm her. She can still feel a faint, consoling glow at her fingertips where their hands touched and even that modest contact was enough to envelop her with a shield of gentle dreams.

The space next to her is empty, the covers slightly adjusted so that the blankets bunch towards her. She realizes that she can remember everything—which is unusual—but decides to find her notebook just to make sure she remembers everything. She pushes herself up with her arms.

And she falls. Confused, she looks at her legs. They are there; ever so present in her sight. She feels aware of them. Yet when she tells herself to stand, it is as if the command is foreign. She pushes herself again. Falls. Again and again.

This will pass. Like thunderstorms in June this moment of weakness will pass.

But reality sets in. Usually when she can't move her legs, she can't feel them as well. This feeling is different. She is aware of them—her thighs, her knees, her toes. But they just won't move. They won't move.

But she has to stand and walk, otherwise she will be completely useless. Otherwise it will be as if she is no different from a one year old who is horribly dependent on everyone around it—a bawling, worthless child.

She has inched a foot when her arms are too tired to drag her entire body. This is silly, she would laugh as this obscene futility if wouldn't hurt so much. Toushiro could carry her so easily. So why can't she carry herself? Shouldn't this be a bare minimum? To be able to support herself and move herself?

Hot tears sting her cheeks and every honeyed crumble left over from her dreams are devoured by the greedy beast of shame.

If she can't love herself, then who can?

Maybe it's been an hour now, but with her face pressed to the ground, she can't tell. The humiliation is too heavy for her to even lift her head. The urge to go to the bathroom is gone and no- is that warm liquid she feels near her legs?

She is ugly. She is disgusting. She is useless. She is nothing. No, she is not nothing yet. She is not dead yet.

But for once, she genuinely wishes she could be.

* * *

When he slides open the door with the groceries that took way too long of a walk to get, he immediately senses something wrong. The shades are still closed and everything is dark. He walks into the main room. And drops the sweet bread he meant to surprise her with.

The effect is no different from being stabbed by something perhaps much sharper and colder than a steel blade. Seeing that girl—reduced to a thin figure crumpled helplessly on the ground. And fists balled in a sole act of frustration, a substitution of a painful shriek. Yet only a whimper is all she has the strength for. Her hand hangs in self-hatred, brown hair droops like deathly disgust as the bottom of her dress is soaked with urine.

She mumbles something through the deep, blood red in her face.

Then suddenly, he can hear her voice like glass shattered by humiliation: "Go away. Please. Just go."

He stands there.

Suddenly she screams sharply: "Go!"

He won't leave. Nor will he let her leave. Calmly and slowly, he walks towards her, this feeble girl immobile from waist down. Undaunted, he bends down, slips his arms underneath hers, and pulls her closer.

She thrashes with her arms. She is trying so, so hard with those arms as light as feathers. But she cannot break his determination.

"Why are you still here?! Why am I still here?! God, why can't I just die right now!?"

Because nothing—including her—can break these feelings he has for her. These feelings have long been sealed by an invincible cherishment.

He closes his eyes and only resolves to hold her closer. These weak fists that feel like nothing against his back; this fragile torso against his arms; these hot desperate tears seeping through his shirt; the crippled legs against soiled cloth—he will love it all. He will be her strength. He will cherish her when she can not be brave enough to love herself.

"Hey, Momo." He whispers fiercely into her ears.

Her flailing subsides into weak protest as he squeezes even tighter.

"Marry me."

She becomes utterly still and silent.

"Will you marry me?"

* * *

**A/N: I know it's a tad late, but I guess part of me doesn't really want to part from this fiction yet...(I know, pretty selfish of me, right? But really, I still can't believe it's almost over...)**

**Besides that, I don't really have much to say other than: PLEASE and REVIEW! **

**Oh, and kaomoji of the chapter: ****（；****_****・）**

**A tear shed for the fact that this fic is almost over...**


	12. December

**December**

_I've decided. _

_I've decided that I like winter. I like it because of the snow—it is prickly cold and freezes on your skin, but it is perfectly white and beautiful. It is like this all the time; whether it is the night of Christmas Eve and children with droopy eyelids watch their windows trying to witness a piece of magic; whether it is the morning of Christmas and bells jingle in harmony with the crinkling of wrapping paper; whether it is any other December day and people walk on the streets. Snowflakes, when they fall, will always be cold to everyone. Yet they sparkle red blue yellow green orange purple before they disappear as if they never existed. _

_And so I liken each snowflake to a tiny life in this big world._

_Winter is the beginning of the end. It is the end of the beginning. It is two ends of a loop in which the past and future somehow meld together to become the present._

_But I think people are different from snowflakes too. They are much bigger. Snowflakes leave a tiny dark spot on the ground—sometimes they stick, but they always dissipate. People stay._

_You see, I read a fairytale once; it said that when people die, their souls are constantly reborn as butterflies that hatch from their chrysalises, whose uniquely delicate wings each tell a different narrative. But I think souls of the dead join a giant pair of wings that envelops the living world—so in reality, there is no such thing as separate worlds. Living, dead...they are one. _

_Because every breath and word someone says is always witnessed, whether by a friend, a stranger, or even a patient flower. And every little smile becomes a memory, stored among other, beautifully trivial moment. So when people can no longer actively hear or see or feel, they become seeds of dandelions scattered in the wind, carried to other places to take root and blossom. Living things are so intertwined that nothing can ever truly die._

_I wonder if a piece of me could become something as beautiful as a butterfly. But if I don't, that's okay. Because I know._

_I won't ever die. _

* * *

The Christmas lights are fuzzy dandelion seeds nestled in the city, as if waiting to grow. Glowing from the foot of the hill that overlooks the buildings, the lights faintly illuminate the empty seat of the wheelchair.

Sitting on the grass turned stiff and cold by winter, she lays her head back on Toushiro's warm, sturdy chest. With his sure arms wrapped around her waist and a leg supporting her on either side, she feels as if she is in a cradle. Right now, she is in a safe dream. Inside her chest, a sense of peace glows like the lights in the city.

Closing her eyes, she says, quietly as if afraid to break the calm of the night, "Ne, Toushiro-kun."

"Yeah?" He mumbles, his voice somewhat lost in her hair as his chin rests upon her head. It is one of the few moments when they are this close and he feels as if he should memorize every nuance he can.

"Tomorrow...would you mind if I keep my last name?"

"Sure."

Looking up at the stars in the sky, she wonders if she will end up just as far. If she will ever be able to shine just as bright regardless of the distance. She explains. "It's silly really, but I just want to leave with the name I was born with. I don't know how to explain it, but I was Hinamori for a little over 17 years, you know?—

"It's fine. I don't mind." He cuts her off with a slight edge in his calm voice. He can't bear this kind of talk, the way she looks back at the past as if it is gone forever with that harmonious, accepting tone.

Tilting her head up a bit so she can see his face, she smiles up at him. Tomorrow, this contemplative face with features that suit the silver calm of winter will be the face of her husband. Although nowadays, she tends to forget the face of her family, tonight she can recall how she went to a wedding with her parents. The flowers, the cake, the dresses...she remembers wanting to have one of her own. But now, she does not care for the white wedding gown and the lacy veil she picked out alone with the money her parent's gave her with apologetic eyes that said farewell. All she can see tomorrow is Toushiro with a bright sky that almost seems white behind him.

Perhaps she will not be able to remember her mother, father, or sister tomorrow. Perhaps she might not be able to move her arms again—which did happen a few weeks ago for a quick 30 minutes. Perhaps she might miraculously be able to see colors the next day, or maybe she won't be able to see at all. That is the beauty of time—it is completely free; nothing can control its wings, not predictability or justice.

But time will never take away Toushiro from her. It can not change the fact that they are here—here after all the smiles and tears and shy kisses they have shared. It can not change the fact that she loves him. And for now, this love is so invincibly boundless. And that will never changes even eons from now, regardless of the fact that she will not be tangibly present. She has realized this over the course of the months and it gives her tremendous peace.

"Ne, Toushiro-kun. Can you promise me something?"

He is quiet and she continues.

"Promise me that you'll do whatever it takes to make yourself happy once I'm gone. That you'll have a nice, warm family someday and maybe have a cozy house. Can you do that?"

His arms around her grip her torso a bit tighter and he replies hoarsely. "I can't."

She knew this might happen, so she lightly adds on, "For me, then? Do it for me?—

"I am. I am doing it for you." He interrupts. Soon he is talking faster and almost more frantically. "We can do it all that together. Stop talking like you're dying—

"But Toushiro-kun. I am dying." She serenely smiles as she gazes out into the city. "I only have a few weeks left at most."

"You don't know that." He feels like a child in a losing argument—no, he is a child in a losing argument, but he doesn't care. He hates this. He hates it so much.

"And you don't know that I might slip away at any moment." She simply replies, like a mother gently calming a child.

"You...when we first met, you asked me to go out with you so that you could experience everything. And you're acting like we're finished but it's not. There's still so much we haven't done. I haven't done my end of the bargain—

She lifts an arm and touches his cheek. It is cold at first touch, yet she can feel emotions radiating warmth from underneath his skin. Looking up, she meets his downcast eyes and naturally smiles. "Oh Toushiro-kun, you can't give me everything. And it's not your fault; you can't control time."

With her brown eyes reflecting the quiescence of the starry sky, it sinks into him: he has lost. He was fated to lose. He knew this when he first dove into this sea—his drowning would come eventually. Who knew it would be that losing would hurt this much? Who knew that it would be so hard to relinquish this fight? He wants to cry, but he does not allow himself to. Not now, when these last few days are supposed to be joyous. Not now.

She feels his arms go limp around her, as if in defeat. Maintaining her delicately contented expression, she softly says:

"Ne, you know how I used to think how unfair God was for not letting me live as long as everyone else? Well, I think that He compensated for all those years I will lose with something truly wonderful, maybe even worth more than what he has taken from me. He brought me you, Toushiro-kun.

"You see, when I was younger, I saw this one couple that looked really, really happy and so I decided that I wanted love too. That's why I promised myself that I would try to find it before I died. And out of all the people I could've asked to help me, I somehow ended up asking you. Ne, Toushiro-kun, you said that you still have so left to give me but the truth is, you've already given me so much. Because you know, I used to think that love was just something that makes you really happy. But then you came along and I realized how it is sad and funny and angry too. I think that in this one year, you gave me much more life than I could've gotten if I lived even 40 or 50 years longer without knowing you."

She laughs softly, looking at his turquoise eyes that seem remind her of broken ice melting in the sun. "That was really long, wasn't it? I guess I should just say thank you now. Thank you, Toushiro-kun. Thank you so, so very much."

The silence is a lullaby of felicity and heartbreak all at once. It is an ode, an elegy, passing between solely the two of them.

"Ne, so can you promise me?"

He holds her hand in his, trembling as he presses it closer to his face as a last ditch attempt against fate's dispassion.

"Yeah."

* * *

Karin wonders at this girl sitting in the wheelchair she pushes carefully up a forest path. In the simple white gown and a veil that cascades from a braided bun at the back of her head, she reminds Karin of a grown child playing dress up. Yuzu did try her best to do makeup on the girl's pale face with delicate features, but she is still has a feeling of transience that makes her easy to overlook.

She wonders. As the girl sits serenely with her arms in her lap and a soft smile on her face, everything about her demure and faint. She wonders if she recognizes her. She wonders if she recognized Yuzu. But it is more likely that both the girl no longer retains memories of her twin sister and her, just like how Hitsugaya told her that she does not remember who her parents are today.

Originally, she meant to do this primarily as a favor for her childhood friend, the boy she can not help but still love. Yet the Hitsugaya Toushiro who came to her and Yuzu, asking if the two sisters could prepare the bride to make it as close to a real wedding experience as possible, has changed since she left Karakura to study and returned for winter break. Instead of being a Tokyo University student, he was a drop out working odd jobs which helped him save up earnings barely enough to buy two wedding rings. He came to her, with this frugal lifestyle. Yet he looked completely content. Perhaps even more than content.

This girl looks content as well. Content is how Karin puts it because she can not completely comprehend the expression both she and Hitsugaya have in common. Regardless, the young bride does not seem anguished over the fact that her wedding will not have any attendees—not even her parents, whom she recalled Hitsugaya deriding about for their weakness. She does not seem anguished over the fact that she is immobile from waist down and may not be able to open her eyes tomorrow. Karin can not even cry for this girl trapped in what she imagines to be an unbearable, unjust curse because there is no shadow of anguish in her simple smile.

"I can wheel myself up from here." A quiet, thin voice comes from the small body. The girl turns and gives her a mild expression of gratitude. "Thank you."

Karin returns her expression with a smile, or what she hopes is a smile because something about the girl makes her feel distanced and confused.

She watches the girl use her thin arms to push against the wheels, slowly rolling up the hill dotted with grass, grayish-green from the frosty December air. Looking up, she sees harmless, gray clouds beginning to cover the sky without malice. But the sun is still prominent as it streaks downwards on the girl.

Karin blinks. Is she imagining things? Somehow, with the way the sun gently beams upon the girl, light seems to stretch out behind her, giving off the impression that she has wings. White-gold, ephemeral wings. And now is when she realizes that this girl is someone she will never understand. Before, she gave the atmosphere of someone who has witnessed the secrets of life for much more than 17 or 18 years. Now, she seems to outshine the elegance of a bride.

Again, she wonders.

She wonders who—the bride or the groom—the savior is in the relationship that transcends her understanding. She wonders this as the girl in white ascends to that brilliant ivory glow of the sun at the top of the hill.

* * *

There is nothing save a few bare trees framing the clearing, the dying grass, the gray city flickering various lights below, and the frigid air. It is a dazing solitude and for once he finds winter too cold.

And then there is everything. From the gentle curve of the hill he sees the tip of a white, diaphanous veil that reflects iridescent lights in the sun. Then the rich, spring-brown hair tied in a loose, braided bun. Then the gingerly curled bangs framing a fair-skinned face with almond, warm-coffee eyes and dark butterfly lashes. The slope of the neck, the laced bodice revealing her thin waist, the simple creases of the gown...there is his everything; his February chocolates, his April showers, his July fireworks...all in that simple girl in the wheelchair with a bouquet of pastel pink roses and white blossoms.

There are no butterflies, no beating of drums. In her breast is only the halcyon joy—warm summer days lying in sweet grass, aromatic springs humming melodies in the rain. It is the beautiful, natural, simple feeling of love that radiates in her body like a cozy fire as she sees the tall boy in a dark suit, eyes like melting arctic ice, hair like the silvery moon. He is the strength and gentleness that reminds her of a full moon at midnight.

Now she is in front of him, right beside him where all feels safe and right. A subtle smile reaches his lips as he breathes in, and then breathes out a small laugh.

"It's pretty stupid, I wanted to be a lawyer so I should be coherent, but I can barely find words to say right now." He pauses, and tries again. "I wanted to be a lawyer, and I didn't know why. I was just part of this crowd that kept walking and never stopped to notice the things around me. I could've been just anyone."

He tries to swallow these emotions lumping in his throat. "But then you showed me what it means to actually live. It's funny, because even if...even with your condition, you seemed to me to be the one who was the most alive out of all of us. And you gave a piece of that life to me. When we first started out, I thought that I was the one saving you. But...in the end, it turned out to be the other way around. And...I'm just...really glad. Really, really glad. So...will you take even someone like me, as your husband?"

Looking up at these eyes that swim with feelings and memories, she blithely smiles, "Someone _like _you? No. The only person I'll ever say this to _is_ you, Toushiro-kun. I do."

The nerves, the clumsiness, the trivialities he worried over washes away and he sweeps her up from her chair and brings his lips to hers. And in that moment, there was no future, there was no past; just the pure, eternal present.

When natural law dictates that they have to breathe, they eventually pull apart—soft breaths tickling each other's face. And then there is a tranquil silence, as his blue-green eyes reflect her eyes and her dark brown eyes reflect his eyes.

A white glimmer breaks their stare. The bride is the first to look away as she tilts her head up towards the cloudy sky.

"Look, Toushiro-kun! The first snow!"

He quietly admires the way the tiny flakes sprinkle and stick onto her hair, the chaste white complementing her cheerfulness.

"Hey, Momo. Want to dance?"

She laughs, "Toushiro-kun, I can't."

He caringly smiles, "Look down."

Shocked, she realizes that her feet are flat on the ground. Slowly, he slips his arms away from her waist.

"I'm...standing! I can stand!" She laughs in disbelief.

Unaccustomed to the feeling of the ground solid against her soles, she stumbles and he quickly catches her. She giggles at this ability she used to find a birthright—today it is a gift.

"I guess I'm not quite used to it."

"That's okay, I'm right here."

With his arms around her waist and her hands on his shoulders, they slowly dance in circles. He has never been a great dancer; there is something awkwardly difficult about stepping in different directions with someone too close to you. But right now feels right. Right now he feels confident and infinite. She gives him an indescribable strength that makes him want to act as her shield forever.

Forever. Forever. Forever. Under the tiny white lights that descend from the sky. Forever. In this quiet place above the city. Forever. Just the two of them, her feather-light head on his chest, where his heart beats.

Everything feels surreal. The snowflakes are fuzzy and sparkly. They should feel cold, but instead they are orange sparks of Christmas fireside when they melt on her skin. The sky, the grass, the trees are shining and soon they are completely white—so bright that she forgets what colors are.

The euphoria is so much that it makes her tired. Oh so incredibly tired. She should rest her eyes maybe...but before she goes off into dreams, she wants to say his name one more time. One more time. And tell him more things maybe. And hear more of his voice. Oh there are so many things she wants to do and so many wonderful things she has already done and she is so tired and so happy...

"Ne...Toushiro...kun..."

He waits. He waits to hear the rest of what she has to say, because whenever she has that lilt and starts with 'Ne Toushiro-kun", she always has something more to say. Something treasurable to say with her voice like bells. He trusts that she will finish what she has to say. She always does.

So he waits even as mist starts to cover her brown eyes. He waits even as her eyelashes like wings slowly droop downwards and obstruct his view of that rich-spring brown he loves so much. He waits as that dear smile on her lips fades and fades.

It is such a familiar word, yet it comes out so cracked and hoarse and childishly pitched. But the voice is indeed his, because when he opens his mouth, a deep pain lodges in his throat.

"Momo?"

And he realizes.

Everything falls into pieces. There is nothing left inside him. That strength is all gone and he falls to his knees in the inch-deep white. Hot tears blind his eyes and falls as large beads on the cold face of the eternally sleeping girl.

She is gone.

And he would be angry or maybe even be humorlessly laughing if it weren't for this insurmountable loneliness that leaves him in cruel, arctic barrenness. Because he never had a chance to hear what she was about to say. He never had a chance to tell her that he loved her. She was right the whole time last night, when she told him he could not predict when things will happen. She may be grateful to God, but he still thinks whoever is up there is cold and callous. She was just here and talking and smiling and laughing with him...now it is just him.

He used to think that this girl was feather-light yet now this body that he pulls tight to his chest carries the weight of the world. And there is no fairy-effervescence about this corpse that he loves. This is just a shell—it was always just a shell.

The life he cherished so much is gone. If he cannot see traces of her in that body, then he cannot feel some sort of 'spirit' overlooking him as some people say as they pray. There is nothing but himself and this expansive emptiness that is now is his forever.

Everything continues. Innocent snow falls heavily to the ground. Unassuming cars pass by below in a hushed swoosh. Miles away, children slide down hills with their sleds. A father is running to catch the train home. A lover kneels with a forward foot to propose. Everyone and everything moves farther and farther from the past.

Except the boy at the top of the hill. On his knees, clutching a cold girl, he waits for unspoken words. He waits for time to stop.

The snow falls.

* * *

**A/N: I'm NOT going to say my thank you's and concluding rabbles yet...because there is an epilogue and I hate parting with my works...so...onward we go...**


	13. Epilogue

**10 years later**

"Ne, Papa, where are we going?"

Pink boots leave small footprints in the snow with a crisp crunch, trailing behind larger, heavier footprints. With a tilted, curious expression the five-year-old stares at the man who holds her small hand as they climb up a hill of white.

Her father is very tall, but not big and scary like some men. His eyes are blue, or maybe green, or maybe both. His hair almost blends in with the snowy background. Even though he matches well with winter, she knows that he is actually very warm. When he smiles, it is very calm and gentle—like it is right now.

"To visit Mama."

A snowflake falls on her nose and she contemplatively wipes it off with a mitten before brightly saying, "My adoptive Mama?"

Their arms swing softly forward and back while the young girl notices how the ring on her father's left hand gleams against the sky.

"That's right."

They reach the top of the hill, where there is a modest headstone even shorter than her height. Her father lets go of her hand and she tries copying the way he gazes at what looks like just a fancy rock to her. The snow is thick now, and she has to stomp through the white to place the flowers her father let her carry in front of the stone. Closer, she can use her newfound vocabulary she just learned to make out the engraving.

"Hi-na-mo-ri...Mo-mo. Ne, right? Right, Papa?" She looks back eagerly.

Her father isn't himself today. That's because even though he is here and she can touch him, he isn't really here. His eyes are glued on the headstone and he looks like her when she wishes for something she knows she can't have (kind of like a second piece of cake when it's not her birthday), only more serious.

Her father is somewhere far, far away. She imagines him to be in a fairytale; he is the prince and the mother she has never met is the princess. Her father has never explained to her why she doesn't have a mother like all the other children in her class. From what she understands, her mother is in a land they can't reach. That is why her mother never visits and she feels like her father is crying inside sometimes.

"Ne, ne, Papa." She tugs on her father's coat, and looks up at his pensive face, "What was Mama like?"

He looks at the little girl's innocent face. It is a miracle, really. Three years ago he gathered the courage to adopt a child and found her—earth-brown hair as rich as spring with delicate facial features; it is as if she had been reborn in the form of a child. Only her lively eyes are a grayish-turquoise that makes her even more remarkable. It is almost as if she could be his own _and _her own. Their own.

After the silence she is replied with, the child decides that now is not a good time, even if her father usually is really smart and can answer any of her questions. So she wanders a bit on the hill, noticing how she can almost see the entire city along with the colorful Christmas lights like tiny bugs. She thinks how lonely it must be to stay up here all the time. She can't explain it, but she feels as if it is a pretty sort of lonely, for the snow and the grass and the trees seem to whisper faint echoes of wonderful memories. Waiting for her father, she plays with a slightly worn teddy bear with lopsided arms and gray fur. One time her friend told her it was ugly, but she loves it and feels an inexplicable connection with it.

He is only absent-mindedly keeping an eye on her from the corner of his vision. The rest of his attention is fixated on the gravestone. He wonders if she can see them. Is she happy to see him running a bakery now, that he has gotten a bit better at not burning bread? Does she know how much this girl looks like her, and how much she loves pink like her? He wonders. He wonders so much.

"Ne...Papa, can we go now?"

He really should go now. The girl might get a cold—she doesn't like winter weather much either. But he can't. Oh, he can't. This is why he has never brought her here the years before, for there were days when he would come here and sit for nearly a day. He thought that this time he would be stronger.

But he can't move. When he thinks about how they could've sent the girl to school together, panic about her first lost tooth together, and sit at the table with three bowls of rice together, he doesn't want to leave. His heart wrenches from missing her so much and he loses the desire to keep going. He is scared of walking on and forgetting everything in such a gradual way that he will not even notice. And he knows right now that there must be details from that year he can no longer recall perfectly right now—it frightens him, so much to the point of paralysis.

Life without her is so long. Sometimes takes so much effort and courage just to blink one more time, breathe one more breath. It is so hard. And he feels so empty, even here on top of this hill, where he thought she would be the most present. But no; this stone is nothing but a stone. It is still as cold as it has been since she has left. She has left and left him with nothing.

"Wah! Papa! Look! A butterfly! In the winter!"

It lands on his outstretched hand, feather-light on his finger, its wings a soft peach and beautifully translucent. He closes his eyes.

There is a golden warmth and he can feel it all over again; fireworks in the snow, cherry blossoms in the spring, fireflies in the summer, carnival music in the autumn.

_They say that butterflies are souls of the deceased._

He smiles.

Because he knows he will never forget her. Because she, him, and those twelve months are here and they are everywhere. And they are inseparably inside of him, a glow that will never die as he grows old.

It is her presence that gives him the strength to turn away and take the first step.

"Come on, let's go." He says as he starts down the hill.

But the little girl does not move. Now she is the one who lingers, caught in an awe-struck spell by the beautifully brief moment in which her father held the butterfly.

He looks back and chuckles at her wide and wondrous eyes as she stands still next to the grave. Stretching out a hand to the girl with a halcyon smile, he lovingly says:

"I can tell you the story about Mama on the way back, but we have to go or you'll be late to school. So let's go...

"Shiramomo."

* * *

**A/N: I know I said a would be uploading a chapter a month...but this is my treat to you guys, for being such great readers and wonderful people that you are. It is also in celebration of my midterms being over...but the former statement seems much grander, right? **

**On the other hand, I'm also doing this right now: :'(**

**I can't believe it's all over! This is my 2****nd**** finished fiction and I'm so glad I got to complete it! I'm also so glad to have so much support! I started this fiction telling myself: Well, it might not be great, but it makes me happy to write anyway...And then all you readers started giving me all these great reviews and messaging me and all. I must say, it was quite a shock, but it made me incredibly happy that there are people out there reading these modest little stories I write.**

**Once again, thank you so much for the support! You'll undoubtedly find me writing more in the (most likely very near) future. I might start exploring other anime and characters to write about, but I always seem to gravitate towards Hitsuhina...**

**So hopefully you will all read some of the new works I'll come up with someday :)**


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